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Sumus soli duo. 

"It is the voice of years that are gone! They roll before me with all their deeds! I seize the 
tales as they pass, and pour them forth in song." — Ossian. 

Ihttt fork: 





Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by 

S. J. C. Whittlesey, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of Columbia. 

George W. Wood, Printer, No. 2 Dntch-St., New York. 

/V •V \ (X -V -V ♦ 

With sensations peculiar to those who dip the pencil of 
Thought in Fancy's vase of hues, to portray the lineaments of 
the Heart and the phases of Life upon the silken leaf of 
Poesy, the Authoress of these pensive Heart-Drops unfurls the 
canvas of her frail barque, with a trembling hand, and launches 
out upon the precarious tide of public opinion. 

Freighted with gatherings from the parterre of the Past, and 
the blossom-crowned hills of an Ideal World, she commits it to 
the waves, trusting its unassuming caste may waft it peacefully 
onward in a quiet channel of feeling and affection, unbent by 
the blast, and unshattered by the storm that broods over the 
lake of Literature, folding in its dark bosom the lurid ire of 
merciless criticism ! 

The writer of the following work deprecates its wrath, claim- 
ing for her wreathings only what the heart may justly ask at 
the shrine of hearts, trusting the misty drapery that droops 
from the pale finger of Distrust, may be looped back by the 
golden cords of feeling, and the lightning be drawn from the 
cloud by the magnet of sympathetic influence. 


On the sunny shores of by-gone years she has culled the 
snowy buds of Childhood, with a trembling hand, and heart 
quivering with early memories; from the fresh lawn of glad- 
some Girlhood she has stolen the dewy blossoms of Hope and 
Love, perfumed with the aroma of innocence; through the 
vale of Sorrow she has wandered, in the twilight of Dis- 
appointment, bearing from its shadows drooping blooms to 
whisper to a soul of sadness, that blossoms break amid the 
dimmest shade; and over the darkest abyss of Life she has 
leaned, with hushed heart and burning brow, and lifted from 
its gloom the pale, infant bud of " Hope in Despair," whose 
meek murmurs linger upon the spirit ear of Despondency : — 
"Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal." In the 
dreamy hours of twilight, when the foot-prints of angels tracked 
with gold the azure of the skies, and Fancy's wings unfolded 
in the sighing breezes of Memory, with the sensitive vine of 
the Heart she has woven a wreath of these gatherings — faded 
flowers from memory's waste — intermingled with tiny pearls 
from the silvery strand of a shadowless clime, and lays it 
down, "half fearless and yet half afraid" upon the altar of 
Mind, humbly hoping, as the spirits of the Future, linked to 
the chariot of the Present, sweep down the lane of years, she 
may glance back to a fair oasis in the desert of Life, where 
the white hand of Charity gently lifted it to the eye of favor, 
that embalmed it with the soft dew of feeling and affection. 

Alexandria, Va., May, 1852. 

€ a n t t\xt b . 


Preface 3 

A Tale of Dreams 9 

To a Robin 20 

Ezmerelda 22 

Bridal Greetings ... 39 

The Mariner 41 

' The Deserted Homestead 42 

Mother 57 

The Last Link is Broken 60 

My Casket of Gems 62 

A Star hath Set 64 

In Heaven there's Rest 66 

An Allegory 67 

Love's Young Dream *73 

When shall we All Meet Again ? 19 

Sister 80 

The Breath of Love 86 

The Angel's Whisper 90 

Home Affections 93 

The Gathered Bloom 98 

► Sarah Elizabeth 100 

" Escape for thy Life," 105 

Whispering Spirits 107 

Smile, aye Smile Ill 

To Annie 113 

The Shadow 115 

The Love of the Heart 119 

Persevere 122 

Heart- Dreamings 127 

We are but Two 130 

Thou Comest No More 134 




Passing Away 135 

The Bride 137 

Twilight Dreaniings 142 

Hope 144 

To Mary '. . . 145 

Lines to a Miniature 148 

And then? 150 

The Three Gifts 152 

Heart-Drops 156 

To a Friend 158 

ines 159 

Memory 163 

The Lily and the Rose 164 

Come Back 16*7 

When? 169 

Song of Freedom 172 

By-gone Hours 174 

The Loved Ones — Where are they ? 178 

Oh! Give me back my Heart again! 180 

The Wanderer 181 

To Mary ... 184 

Far, far away 187 

Stanzas 188 

The Lost Gem 190 

The Bridal Wreath 192 

Lizzie 194 

The Faded Flower 197 

Why not ? 200 

A Tribute 202 

" How shall I give thee up !" . . . . ; 203 

The Heart's Reply 205 

Sympathy 207 

Lay of the Heart 208 

Thoughts of Death 210 

Adolphus 212 

Stanzas 214 

Ode to the Past 215 

Lines 217 

To Kate, of Williamston, N. C 219 




Ode to the Wild- Wood 221 

Stanzas 222 

To Ellen 223 

The Early Grave 224 

Faith, Hope, and Love 225 

Learn to be Silent 221 

To my Father 228 

They Met 229 

Why is it that I'm Sad and Lone ? 231 

To Henry 232 

Go, Forget Me 233 

The Loved and Lost 23^ 

Thou art Gone to the Grave 235 

Wealth and Worth 231 

Stanzas 238 

Brother 1 239 

The Rose, Thorn, and Gem 241 

We said Farewell 242 

On the Death of an Infant 244 

Stanzas 246 

A Simile 249 

To my Brother 251 

The Orphan 253 

Serenade 256 

A Twilight Lay 261 

To a Bouquet of Flowers • 259 

Flights of Fancy 262 

The Stranger's Whisper 264 

Lines 2*56 

Address to the Sons of Temperance 261 

Annie ....... ...... 268 

I love thee not 210 

The Wanderer's Sigh 211 

To a Violet 213 

Affection's Tribute 215 

A Call for Song 216 

Love much 218 

Lines (written in a stranger's album) 219 

Yes, I will Sing 281 




Midnight Musings 282 

Dedicatory Hymn 283 

Do you Remember ? . ■ 285 

Lines (inscribed to my mother) 286 

To an Anonymous Letter 288 

" She is not Dead, but Sleepeth " . 289 

The Time to Die 291 

My Early Home 292 

A Tribute 294 

Remember Me 295 

^£>h, let us never meet again ! 296 

^To 297 

" Whatever is, is Right " 298 

Stanzas 300 

The Heart's Farewell 301 

May Queen's Address 302 

The Severed Tress 304 

The Breath of Spring 306 

Impromptu Stanzas 307 

The Human Heart 310 

Stanzas 312 

Nay, let me "Weep 313 

Judge not the Heart 314 

To a Bird Imprisoned 315 

Faded and Gone 316 

A Fragment 317 

The Song of the Spirit 318 

Sumus soli duo 320 

Nothing True but Heaven 322 

Do you Remember ? 323 

The Philosophy of Love 325 

Lines 329 

Henry Clay 330 

Elisabeth 333 

Not Now 334 

Broken Hopes 338 

Lines (to the little author of " I love her ") 337 

Come, Haste Thee 339 

The Two Sisters 841 



% $itb nf Drntms. 

" The serpent of the field, by art 
And spells, is won from harming ; 
But that which coils around the heart, 

Oh, who hath power of charming ?" — Bykon. 

"I had a dream that was not all a dream"- 
A fair girl in the bnd of sunny years, 
Ere yet the leaflets of her girlish heart 
Unfolded to the wooings of Love's sighs. 
They called her beautiful, supremely fair, 
With her soft hazel eyes and auburn curls, 
That floated like a mist of twilight shade, 
Made faintly golden by the stars' pale beam, 
About her snowy breast and rounded cheek, 
Of ever- varying hue, blending in light, 
Like a wild-rose leaf in a lily's bell. 


An only daughter, lavish love was hers, 
From fond parental hearts, and every joy 
That sits enthroned beneath the kindling stars. 
Like a young lily-bud that folds its leaves 
From the gay sunshine of a golden day, 
Lay the fair maiden's heart hid from the gaze 
Of the great world's bold eye, and noble ones 
That bowed in homage at her beauty's shrine ; 
For when was Beauty void of worshipers ? 

"A change came o'er the spirit of my dream :" 
The maiden sat, in the hushed twilight hour, 
"With the soft night-winds tossing back the rings 
Of glossy hair that swept her blushing cheek. 
And a proud form was there, a stranger one, 
A wanderer from a northern clime away. 
They met beside a sparkling, limpid stream, 
That sang its music to the listening flowers, 
And wreathed the infant buds with crystal fringe, 
As the}?- bent down their red lips to its wave. 
They met but spake not then, save in language 
Eloquent though mute — and he watched her steps, 
And traced her to her home, her happy home, 
Made radiant with the sunlight of fond hearts. 
Short time sped on, and now they sat entwined, 
Beneath the scented vines that lightly swayed 
In music whispers o'er their youthful heads ; 
And the low breeze that stirred the leafy homes 
Of sleeping birds, nestling in twilight dreams, 
Bore on the warm breath of their plighted faith. 
And he gave a stainless bud, enfolding 


Fragrance in its hidden heart, as symbol 
Of her own, whiles the fair moon climbed the east, 
And peeped her pale eye in the maiden's heart, 
And read the sweet confession trembling there. 

" A change came o'er the spirit of my dream:" 
Before the holy altar stood the maid, 
Leaning in snowy robes, with roseless cheek, 
On the strong arm of him, the stranger one. 
And the great heart of life stood beating there — 
Beating in leaden numbers, low and deep. 
I know not how it was, but a dim veil 
Seemed mantling o'er the scene and stifling joy. 
'Twas hushed as the deep calm of voiceless wo, 
All save anon a low sob from a heart 
That watched and wept, and yet it knew not why. 
The man of God that joined their clasping hands, 
Stood faint and breathless with conflicting fears, 
As he pronounced them one. 'Twas passing strange, 
And yet I know the heart of that girl-bride 
Seemed shrouded 'neath a pall of coming ills, 
E'en while her hazel eye looked smiling up 
In the deep blue of his — the trusted one. 
They did not know the " shadow cast before" 
Was type of darker hours and deeper dread ! 

"A change came o'er the spirit of my dream:'' 
The young wife sat among the blooming flowers, 
So faintly paling in the Autumn's breath, 
And dreamed how hearts must fade and droop and die, 
When the rich summer of young Love is gone. 


And be was there, the loving and the loved, 
With soft, deep azure eyes, and jetty hair 
Swept gently back from his fair, manly brow, 
By her small hands that looked, amid its mass 
Of shining darkness, like two white-winged doves 
Eeveling amid Despair. Then he spake, 
And whispered her of one whose youthful breast 

"Was darkened with her shadow" — one who laid 
The offering of his heart low at her shrine, 
And turned in anguish from the maddening tale, 
That she would be another's. Ah ! she knew 
His noble, faithful heart lay crushed and chill, 
In the cold cavern of a hopeless love ; 
For they had told her how he strove to hide 
His anguish in the deep of his own breast, 
From the sheer mockery of weak Pity's lip, 
In the dim chamber of Seclusion. Ah ! 
She felt the brightness of her own glad heart, 
Had shut out hope from his too-faithful breast, 
When days went on, and their eyes met again ; 
His the sad glance of patient resignation 
To His pure will who " doeth all things well " 
And a soft smile sat gently in the blue 
Of his warm glance, chiding with its faintness, 
And 3'et he blamed her not, for well be knew, 

"Love is not the growth of years nor gift of will." 
I know not how it was, but her young heart 
Grew sad in gazing on his high pale brow, 
Where hopelessness seemed written in its calm ; 
For she had not, save as a sister, loved. 
And now, when he, her own, her trusted one, 


Called up his image to her vision-gaze, 

And his meek glance of sorrow smote her heart, 

A veil of paleness swept her rosy cheek, 

And dewy sympathy swam in her e}^e. 

Ah ! fatal hour, that dropped its soiling print 

Upon the snowy tablet of his sonl ! 

He saw the shade of hers, and his bright brow 

Grew dark and fearful with the spirit's grief. 

In vain she strove to twine her trembling arms 

Around his manly form — in vain she wept 

And told him all her love — he darkly frowned, 

And thrust her wildly from his heaving breast !• 

The low, sad Autumn winds went wailing on, 

Sighing deep dirges o'er her faded dreams, 

And opening to her wild, despairing e} T e, 

Dim visions of life's dark reality ! 

For 'tis the heart gives Nature all its caste, 

And beauty in its shade looks ever lorn. 

"A change came o'er the spirit of my dream:" 
Again she sat within her early home, 
And he was far away upon the deep. 
The pale moon, softly cradled in the sky, 
Looked sadly down, as if in sympathy, 
Upon the wreck of all her cherished hopes. 
He called her cold, in madness, and she fled 
From the wild ravings of a tortured heart, 
And he went forth a wanderer o'er the waves. 
They did not say "Farewell," for she was gone 
To the warm hearts she once resigned for him ; 
But now the dream was over, and she came, 


A fading, blighted bud, to droop and die 
Upon the bosoms true, that knew not change. 
The j did not say "Farewell," and he went forth 
From the sweet scenes of all their early love, 
To lone communion with the restless waves — 
They parted silently to meet no more. 
And so it is — Love is the shade of Jo} T ; 
It sleeps and smiles, and wakes to weep in sorrow ! 

" A change came o'er the spirit of my dream:" 
Fie had come back from his far mountain home, 
And humbly knelt confessing all his wrongs. 
They told her not to trust him, and she wept, 
And faintly turned from his low pleading voice, 
That wakened all the past, the happy past ; 
Bright till that fated eve that dashed the gems 
Of garnered hopes, on the projecting rock 
O'erhanging the deep gulf of dark Distrust ! 
" They told her not to love him," and she shrank 
And sought to fly, but her weak heart 
Melted and sank upon the breast of Love ; 
For when was Youth e'er wise to Reason's call ! 
And there were tears and sighings loud and deep, 
Beneath that dear old roof, her childhood's home, 
For she was far away, amidst the din 
Of a strange world's all cold and jostling mart. 
He bore her far away from clinging hearts, 
And whispered of a pure and changeless trust, 
When distance had shut out the light of eyes 
That beamed upon her in her sunny clime, 
Maddening his soul with strange, unholy thoughts. 


And so the sequel proved that "Love is blind," 
Nor knows the shatters of a riven faith. 

" A change came o'er the spirit of my dream :" 
She had gone forth from the full heart of life, 
To the cool shadows of his mountain home. 
The rose was on her cheek, and in her eve 
The glad young soul looked out all joyously, 
As o'er the deep-green hills her merry foot 
Bounded, making soft music through the leaves 
That Autumn's early finger had swept down 
Upon the mossy turf that clad the hills. 
And she was happy in that far-off land, 
For stranger hearts smiled brightly on her there. 
I know not how it was, but hearts would ope, 
Where'er she strayed, and warmly welcome her ; 
And she was glad, for all her soul was Love. 
She could not live without its sunny sphere. 
But sometimes a faint shade would bind her brow — 
Sweet, holy memories of home and friends — ■ 
And he would chide her for a wandering thought 
Of some proud one within that stranger land, 
Who dared to smile upon a brother's bride ; 
And her soul sickened, "hoping against hope," 
Till Time had told she "worshiped but a shade." 
Within a chamber dim with twilight haze, 
She dwelleth now, far from his lovely home. 
And he is there; with deeply burning brow, 
And deathly lip, he taunts the stoic wife 
With an unholy passion cherished there. 
Silent she sits, and lists with tearless eye, 


For her heart's urn has long been drained of tears. 
Darkly he bends his deep eye on her own, 
And reads her calmness — madly raised his hand, 
And love's sweet chain is rent. Calmly she rose, 
And his wild eye bent down beneath her own, 
For the proud spirit of her fathers lurked 
Within its depth. Coldly she spake " Farewell" 
Low at her feet he knelt. She turned away, 
And yet she heard him curse his madness deep, 
For well he knew his home was hers no more. 

" A change came o'er the spirit of my dream :" 
A frail barque kissed the bright and laughing waves 
That made soft music in the ocean's cave. 
The great world's heart is pulsing far away, 
And all her hopes lie crushed amid its din. 
A white veil flutters in the morning breeze, 
And well she knows his heart is on the sea. 
Her dim eye lingered till the city fled, 
And melted in the distance, like a mist 
Of fleecy morning clouds circling the deep. 
Silent she turned and bent above the flood, 
And heart-drops mingled with the sea-green wave, 
Dreaming how peacefully a heart would sleep, 
Wrapped in the winding-sheet that ocean spreads ; 
But her faint eye looked up to the stars' home, 
And scanned the watery waste sleeping in light, 
And on the blue leaf of the ocean scroll, 
She saw and read — " Not all of Death to dieP 1 

" A change came o'er the spirit of my dream :" 


Again she trod the bright ways of her youth, 

And warm hearts sorrowed as they clasped her form, 

So frail, they thought she soon must pass away. 

She seemed a violet in the Autumn's blast, 

Bending in every breeze, ere long to fade, 

Or a pale lily bowed beneath the dew, 

Crushed with the weight of tears — and fond ones gazed 

Upon her pale, pale cheek and languid eye, 

And saw the blossoms breaking o'er her grave ! 

They bore her far away to " change of scene," 

Where no remembrance of her buried hopes 

Might be evoked by aught that linked the Past ; 

Bidding her smile for them, and her young soul 

Struggled to break the fetters that enslaved. 

Time's soothing finger strung her heart anew, 

And made, sometimes, low music with its strings, 

Uplifting the dark veil her spirit wreathed, 

Shading its light, and gemmed it with soft stars. 

They saw the rose again paint her fair cheek, 

And in the hazel of her eye the lustre sleep, 

And fond ones smiled and whispered — " She is saved !" 

I know not how it was, but proud ones came, 

And spake of " Love," and "Hope," and future "Time." 

But she shrank shuddering from the syren song 

That long ago had lured her on to wo ! 

I know not how it was, for she was not 

As she had been of yore, so beautiful 

They called her a bright spirit dropped from Heaven. 

Ah! they did not know, when she shrank trembling 

From the voice of Love, how her soul was stirred 

By a pale wand — the memory of the past. 

They saw her turn and smile, and called her " cold." 


" A change came o'er the spirit of my dream :" 
I saw the wealth of Love's outflowing tide, 
Turned back in fullness on her gushing heart, 
Moaning in anguish round the spirit's eaves, 
And she caught up the echo of its sighs, 
Weaving frail wreaths bound with her own heart-strings, 
And sent them forth to tell a listening world — 

"We learn in suffering what we teach in song !" 
She gathered faded flowers from Memory's waste, 
And laved them in the fountain of her tears ; 
They drank the briny flood, and ebbed its tide. 
The streamlet of her soul flowed on again, 
In an ideal clime, and peopled it 
With fancies and sweet dreams to revel in, 
And the dim visions of the shadowed past, 
Paled in the beams of Fancy's " brain-born " joys, 
And sated sorrow lulled in sorrow's sons:. 
And so it is — Wo has its own resource, 
And draws on Fancy, when all others fail. 
Years rolled away. They told her she was/ra? — 
That her one plea was granted — and she smiled. 
I know not how it was, but a strange smile 
Seemed settling on her lip, as her dark eye 
Bent o'er the semblance of her early love — 
The soft blue eyes, the dark and shining hair, 
The proud and manly form — even his name, 
To her lone ear was a forbidden word ; 

" So dies in human hearts" a dream of Love! 
She gazed and smiled, and turned the tiny shade 
From her sad eye, and sealed it with " Farewell ;" 
Speeding it onward to a distant land — 


She said "Farewell:" they never met again. 
And then she took a long, long-cherished flower, 
He twined amid her curls in girlhood's morn, 
And gazed upon it — all her early hopes — 
Her starry dreams, and visions bathed in light, 
Had laded like it — and she bade it — go ! 
Lonely she sat in the dim twilight shade, 
And dreamed the past, the buried past all o'er — 
Buried in madness and its grave — her heart .' 
A monument of years o'ershaclowed it. 
Its epitaph, traced in tears, was — Memory. 

The dream was past — startled I awoke. 
And gazed around upon a world of change, 
"Wondering if it could be cdl a dream ; 
For a dim vision floated through my brain — 
Visions of tears and sisrhs and aching hearts, 
That I had seen and heard in distant lands ! 
And then I thought the destiny of some, 
I had linked up in this my darksome dream ; — 
Heaven help thee, maiden, if it shadow forth 
A cold, a dread reality for thee ! 
Death sleeps — Life slumbers on the edge of Time, 
And weaves a changing garland of strange dreams 
Around the heart of Love — fleeting as fair; 
' But in the sleep of death what dreams may come — " 
Dreams ! in the grave is but reality : 
A long, unbroken, never-changing story : 
But Life, aye, " Life is hut a Talc of Dreams." 


$n n llnliiu. 

Sweet bird! how dotli thy music tone 
Kecall the days forever flown ; 
"When life was bright, and skies were clear, 
And blessings starred my pathway here! 
Thy kindred's tones had ever power 
To soothe me in the weariest hour — 
To lead my lonely thoughts above, 
And thrill my heart with holy love. 

When twilight beams fell faintly down, 
And deepening shadows stole around, 
Their cheerful songs 'woke silent eve, 
And bade expiring sunlight live. 
And then I loved to watch their flight, 
By the pale moonbeam's misty light, 
And ca L ch the last far-distant sound 
That floated on the air profound. 

Again, when rosy morn awoke, 
Their songs my peaceful slumber broke, 
Ana wooed me to the woods away, 
To greet with them the infant day. 


Light o'er the dewy mead I tripped, 
And deep from Nature's fountain sipped, 
And culled the brightest, fairest flowers, 
To decorate my youthful bowers. 

Back o'er the downy heath I'd fly, 
With ringing laugh and sunny eye, 
And bounding heart, and song as gay 
As their own silvery, soothing lay, 
And then at noontide's sultry hours, 
I watched them 'midst the leafy bowers, 
And longed to see departing clay. 
To list again their lovely lay. 

Ah ! thoughtless, sinless, careless child, 
In sweet content and joy I smiled 
Upon the close of that bright day, 
That bore my happiest hours awa} T ! 
Yet such is childhood, shadeless youth, 
Sweet innocence and guileless truth, 
But, ah! in after years of pain, 
We sigh for those sweet hours again ! 

Then chant thy lay, my favorite one, 
And let fond Memory backward run, 
To by-gone days, and scenes of yore, 
Scenes that I now may see no more ! 
And as I list thy tuneful lay, 
An innate sense of Truth will sa}- — 
" Though all thy happiest hours are passed, 
Beyond this vale — in Heaven there's rest!" 



€ 3 nt it 1 11 ft n . 


She museth here, Aurelia, 

Here Avhere the white stone tells 
The youthful Ezmerelkla, fair, 

In dreamless silence dwells ; 
The stranger ! who in years agone 

Sank gently down to rest, 
In all her early loveliness, 

Within earth's peaceful breast ! 


Here, while departing daylight hangs 

A fringe of golden light, 
Bestarred with ruby gems, around 

The robe of queenly Night — 
Where twilight mists come stealing on, 

With Autumn's sighing breath, 
That chants a lonely requiem 

Around this home of Death — 


She mournful bends, with silent heart, 

The story, sad, to tell, 
Of her whose spring-time buds of hope 

So early drooped and fell 
In sorrow's dust, ere yet their young 

And richest leaves unrolled 
From out their fresh and dewy case 

Of emerald and gold ! 


Ah ! she is sad, Aurelia, 

Here in the evening hush, 
While low iEolian whisperings 

In plaintive numbers gush 
Around the snowy sentinels 

That guard the loved and lost, 
Soft sleeping in the arms of death, 

Chilled by untimely frost ! 

Here rest the lovely infant forms 

Of rosy Childhood, fair, 
Whose tiny brows were shrouded up 

Untainted by pale care ; 
Their sinless hearts lie moldcring here, 

Beneath the damp, cold sod, 
While life's immortal spark burns on 

Around the throne of God. 




It is a lovely thing to die 

In childhood's starry hours, 
To lay the infant bosom down 

Amid the opening flowers 
That mingle with the moaning breeze 

Their soothing lullaby ; 
Oh ! in life's innocence it were 

A blessed thins: to die. 

And many a wan and furrowed cheek, 

And many a hoary head, 
So calmly lieth cradled here 

Beneath the night- wind's tread ; 
Bending beneath the weight of years 

And many a wintry blast, 
They buffeted old Jordan's tide, 

And anchored safe at last ! 

'Tis beautiful, the fading light 

Upon the brow of Age, 
"When Time's faint hand is folding up 

Its thickly-lettered page ; 
But oh ! how joyful 'tis to know, 

When the last trace is given, 
The finished work has been revised 

And stereotyped for heaven ! 



And some who sweetly slumber here, 

Came o'er Atlantic's foam, 
To rest within a stranger earth, 

Far from their early home ; 
Came from their childhood's clouded hearth, 

A long-oppressed band, 
To fold their weary wings within 

Our free and happy land ! 

Ah ! thus it is, the joys of youth, 

The home of infancy, 
Ne'er counterpoised the golden scale 

Of glorious Liberty ! 
For minds are of supernal birth, 

And scorn the tyrant's rod, 
And man was made to bend alone, 

In homage, to his God. 


Oh ! blessed, ever blessed be 

My native land, my own ! 
Where crowned heads tyrannic sway 

No sceptre on its throne ; 
Where Freedom is the royal robe, 

Whose Monarch reigns above, 
And bondage is the golden links 

Of His eternal Love ! 



Low lie they now, these wanderers 

From thraldom-lands afar, 
Led o'er the dark blue ocean wave, 

By Freedom's Bethlehem-Star ! 
Enough for noble hearts like theirs, 

To worship at its feet, 
And find upon its sacred soil, 

A peaceful winding-sheet. 


Yet from these symbols of pale hopes 

And faded joys, I turn 
And bend in holier dreams around 

Fair Ezmerellda's urn ; 
The silent spot where sleeps a heart 

So early crushed and chilled ; 
"Where sweet affection's dew was ne'er 

In holy love distilled ! 


None wept above this lovely bud 

Of premature decay, 
Save he within whose blighting breath 

It early drooped away ! 
A beauteous blossom rudely torn 

From off the parent stem, 
And borne away, by Angel hands, 

To Heaven's diadem ! 



'Twas in the blooming Summer time, 

And Evening's gentle sprite 
Stood waiting, with her purple robe, 

To deck the coming Night. 
While from the throne of ether, hung, 

Half-hid in lingering Day, 
A coronal of golden gems, 

A brilliant tiara. 


Bending above the buried form 

Of Ezmerellda, fair, 
A burning breath came o'er her cheek, 

And wailings of despair 
Gave out unto the murmuring breeze, 

Their wild and mocking tone ; 
And eyes of mad and flashing light, 

Burned down into her own ! 


" Away and leave me with my dead ! 

Away !" the mocker cried, 
" My dead ! ha ! ha ! I murdered her ! 
My own, my lovely bride ! 
My dead ! ha ! ha ! I murdered her ! 

For she was false as fair! 
I broke her false, false heart ! ha! ha! 
And hid it darkly there ! 



" I wooed her from her happy home, 

And dreamed she loved me well, 
But she was very false, ha ! ha ! 

As where the demons dwell ! 
I stood beside her dying bed 

And saw her fade in death ; 
She could not mock me then, ha! ha! 

With her deceitful breath ! 

"I laughed beside her cold, cold form, 

And false, hushed heart, ha ! ha ! 
And then I laid her softly here, 

From all she loved afar ! 
But now her hand is on my heart, 

Her hot tears burn my brain ! 
She laughs to see me sink, ha ! ha ! 

Deep down to deathless pain ! 


" Away ! away false one ! away ! 

I did not murder thee ! 
With thy bewitching eyes, ha! ha! 

Why dost thou torture me ? 
I did not wile thee from thy home, 

And laugh to hear thee sigh ! 
Thou didst not love me or thou hadst 

Not wept when I was by ! 




" Away ! away, false one ! away ! 

I cannot bear thee now ! 
I hate thee in thy mouldy grave, 

For thy false, whispered vow ! 
Away ! away thou pleading one, 

And let me softly roam 
Where thy false eyes and mocking smile, 

In dreams may never come ! 


" I did not murder thee, ha ! ha !" 

And the mad laugh rang back 
Upon her startled ear, along 

The gloomy woodland track ; 
And then she fled, Aurelia, 

Unto the crowding mart, 
Where the wild murderer's mocking tone 

Could not congeal her heart. 


But when the crimson foliage 

Of Autumn veiled her tomb, 
Sweet Edith knelt again, beside 

This early-blighted bloom ; 
And of the heart that slumbers here, 

She sadly whispered me; 
Come listen, young Aurelia, 

And I will tell it thee. 



She was a fair and joyous thing 

Of sunny cheek and eye, 
Ere Love had taught her maiden heart, 

Its spirit- wings to try ; 
He poured into her youthful ear, 

A tale of winsome art, 
And from her early home she fled, 

To trust a stranger heart ! 


It is a fearful thing to love, 

To launch the spirit's barque, 
Without a beacon light to guide, 

Into the " unknown dark." 
Better to give the pulseless heart 

Into the arms of Death, 
Than hang it, throbbing with warm life, 

Upon an untried faith. 


'Tis but a song of life I sing, 

A song of trust betrayed, 
When spirit-vines tenacious cling 

Around a worthless shade. 
Such was her fate who slumbers here, 

Borne from a distant strand, 
And shrouded in her loveliness, 

Within this stranger land. 




She sank into the misty tomb, 

With no sweet words of love, 
To hush her aching heart to rest, 

And soothe its mourning dove I 
She faded like a young wild rose 

"Within the summer time, 
And girding up her Seraph-wings, 

Passed to a peerless clime ! 


"To die! to sleep! to sleep! no morel 

And by a sleep to say 
We end the heart-ache," and the ills 

That crowd Life's narrow way ! 
Ah! fearful thought ! to be shut out 

From this bright world of ours, 
Of mirth and song and varied light, 

And gay, enameled flowers. 


By Death's pale finger 1 lowly laid 

Within the voiceless tomb, 
Where no faint ray of dawn dispels 

The never-ending gloom ! 
Enfolded in a snowy shroud, 

Within a dusky home, 
Alone ! where no sweet echoings 

Of Love can ever come ! 


But ah ! to fall, with no fond one 

To close the weary eye, 
To breathe, far from our early home, 

The last, faint, yearning sigh ! 
To watch life's promise-buds decay, 

And moulder into dust, 
Death-blighted in the frozen gloom 

Of maddening distrust ! 


This, this is wo ; and this dark fate 

Was hers who sweetly sleeps 
Beneath the violet-turf that drinks 

The tears that nature weeps ; 
As if in tender sj^mpathy 

Her blue and brimming eye 
Begems this slender grave with pearls 

Flung from the azure sky. 


Oh beauty ! rover from the skies, 

Thou art a fearful dower, 
A mighty talismanic wand, 

Charged with electric power ! 
A gem, a pearl, a fragil bud, 

For Passion's lip -caress ! 
The hapless victim of thine own 

Surpassing loveliness ! 


Had she who slumbers here, possessed 

Less of thy magic art, 
What darts of bitter agony 

Had missed her guileless heart ! 
For he who culled the peerless bloom, 

Grew jealous of its ray, 
And, guarded with distrustful care, 

It sighed itself away. 


Distrust ! oh ! basest satellite 

From deepest gulf below ! 
Nursed in the arms of worthlessness ! 

Minion of mocking Wo ! 
Chief marshal of Satanic troops 

From Misery's burning clime ! 
Drilling recruits to people it, 

From out the ranks of time ! 


And he went forth, the murderer, 

Into the world's great heart, 
To quell the surges of remorse, 

Amid its groaning mart; 
But Conscience marked him for her prey, 

From her insulted lair, 
And drove the raving wretch before 

Her lashings of despair! 




The silent monitor that slept, 

Ere her young heart was crushed, 
The resurrection trump hath waked, 

Now that her voice is hushed ! 
And thus it is, the darkling ills, 

The wrongs and rankling pain 
We measure out to other hearts, 

Conscience doth mete again. 



Alas ! how many hearts could tell 

This tale of early doom, 
Could their long silent voices speak 

Up from the dreary tomb ! 
How many trusting ones have sunk 

In silence dark and drear, 
Beneath the same cold weight that pressed 

This lovely sleeper here ! 


Ah ! some we know, Aurelia, 

In that far land of thine, 
Where Spring's first buds are breaking 'round 

That early home of mine ! 
That sweet home-place of light and bloom, 

Watched o'er by eyes so blue ; 
'Tis lovelier now that " distance lends 

Enchantment to the view." 




Our early home ! — there is no sound 

More musical and free, 
No cord within a wanderer's heart, 

So full of melody ! 
The world may wake her golden harp, 

Before us as we roam, 
Yet sweeter, far, the symphony 

That murmurs " Home, sweet home !" 


Long years have gone since last we stood 

Within that home afar, 
Yet in the horizon of Mind, 

It burns the brightest star ; 
And ever will the tender arms 

Of Memory caress her, 
And breathe around the throne of Love, 

"The Old North State, God bless her!" 

There is one silent sacred spot 

Within that land of love, 
To which a wayward Muse would turn, 

And, lingering, love to rove ; 
The hallowed spot where mouldereth 

The holy man of God, 
Who sank with shouts of victory 

Beneath the flowery sod ! 



That early grave, where tiny buds 

Held up their cups of blue, 
And gracious Evening filled them up 

With drops of pearly dew ; 
And where the hand of Autumn spread 

Eose-covering around it, 
As though her heart was loth to leave, 

Less lovely than she found it. 


Ah ! many an anguish-freighted tear 

Hath flowed and fallen there, 
From her the loving and beloved, 

The youthful, plighted fair ! 
Her pure and ardent heart to him 

Was unreserved given, 
Death clasped the living in the dead, 

And bore them both to heaven ! 

VIII. . 

Oh! when affection's spirit-vine 

Enlinks a kindred heart, 
Nor Life, nor white-winged angel Death 

The tendril e'er can part; 
Up through the spangled veil that hides 

The spirit-world away, 
It clambers o'er its ruined hopes, 

And blossoms on for aye ! 



Fain would we lift the icy shroud 

That veils another there, 
And breathe in wild Ambition's ear, 

A tale of Wealth's despair ; 
List, maiden, whose obsequious heart 

Is bowed before its throne ; 
The hapless fate of Eveline, 

May shadow forth thine own ! 

The spotless lily of the vale, 

The young and graceful vine, 
Were not more fair and delicate 

Than lovely Eveline ; 
The lordly suitor sought and won 

The humble, modest flower, 
And bore it in his arms of pride, 

Unto his brilliant bower. 


She left her simple cottage home 

With calm and smiling brow, 
And breathed, with an unfettered heart, 

The solemn, bridal vow ; 
The golden glitter of the chain 

That wreathed the girlish bride, 
Fell dazzling on her beaming eyes, 

And soothed ambitious pride ! 



But what is life when wanting love? 

And what are courtly halls, 
Divested of the sympathy 

That gladdens kindred souls? 
Fair maiden, fame and wealth and pride, 

May bend unto thy will, 
But there's a nook within the heart, 

That love alone can fill. 


Transplanted from its native shade, 

To gardens of sunlight, 
Without affection's cooling dew, 

To keep it fresh and bright. 
The yearning blossom lonely pined 

In sickening slow decay, 
And 'midst the splendor of its home, 

It darkly drooped away. 


Go where the sunlight drifteth down 

Among the blossomed trees, 
And where the soft Spring's perfumed breath, 

Comes floating on the breeze; 
Bend, maiden, o'er the dotted turf 

In that far land of thine, 
And timely learn to deprecate 

The fate of Eveline. 



Come where the crimson-fringed clouds 

Hang out their fleecy folds, 
Come where the struggling infant leaf 

So stealthily unrolls 
Eound Ezmerellda's silent urn — 

A mourning spirit-voice 
Will whisper thee, "Pause, ponder, sift, 

Not easfer in the choice." 

$nkl d&rrrtings. 


Blessings be thine, fair bride, my sister-friend 
Since thou hast glided from the gentle stream, 
And sunny shores of sweet celibacy, 
Into abroad and ever-changing sea! 
Oh! may that ocean e'er unruffled be, 
Its surface smooth, and ever calm to thee ! 
May thy connubial barque, with blossoms decked, 
Of rich, perennial bloom, glide o'er its wave 
In one uninterrupted voyage of peace, 
And blest prosperity. Sunshine and skies 


Of cloudless azure and unfading light, 

Be ever o'er and round thee, sister dear; 

Joy in thy bosom dwell, profusely poured 

From the heart-urn that henceforth must mete out 

Thy all of earthly hope and happiness! 

Thou art no longer ours, thou hast gone forth, 
With bright dreams nestling in thy loving heart — 
Bright dreams of fadeless smiles, and changeless truth, 
Through starry years linked by affection's chain ; 
It may be so, fair bride, "yet who can tell?" 

It is not meet that one who loves thee well 
Should breathe a bridal song for thee, young wife; 
Perchance the shadow in her heart may fling 
Its twilight round thy own. A shade will steal 
Across her spirit, with the dream-like thought, 
Thou art another's now! — gone from the wealth 
Of loving hearts, that made this changing earth 
So bright and beautiful to thy glad e} T es ! 
Gone from the home-hearth, with thy young heart's wings. 
Folded in faith in one ! 

From the sweet shore 
Thy foot so lately pressed, in "fancy free," 
And where full many a tiny print is traced 
Upon the snowy sands, for memory 
To linger o'er, we watch thee from afar, 
And send a whispered prayer o'er the deep tide, 
That gladness e'er may freight thy bridal barque, 
Calm as the joys that blessed thee, single-hearted! 


$\i fflaxinit. 

A storm broodetli over, I hear the hoarse cry 
Of the "heavy-hoofed" thunder, that trampeth the sky 
In wrathful pursuit of the lightning's wild flight — 
Good Spirit, protect the poor sailor to-night ! 

There are hearts on the sea-swell, though sturdy, will quail 
At the shriek of the tempest, and ocean's loud wail, 
As the wind-harpies marshal their dark, howling train 
Through the storm-riven scoop of the turbulent main ! 

"We love the true hearts on the wild ocean wave, 
Where the red lightnings leap, and the foam-surges rave, 
And heaven's artillery goes bounding in glee 
Through the white splashing brine of the billowy sea! 

We love the true heart of the rough honest tar, 
That delves the wide waste of blue waters afar; 
And when the storm-drifts heap on heaven's dark brow, 
We whisper, " God help the poor mariner now !" 

I have watched the white dash of Atlantic's thick foam, 
As the gallant barque ploughed through her watery home, 
And I learned 'mid the rumbles of ocean's swift car, 
To love the kind heart of the rough honest tar. 



I have heard the harsh creak of the quivering shroud 
As the wind-spirits swept from the gathering cloud, 
And tossed the white froth of the maniac wave, 
Eound the shivering form of the gallant ship, brave ! 

Methinks I }~et hear through the high-piping storm, 
As we crept to his side for a refuge from harm, 
A warm breath that hung in the dimness a star. 
From the comforting lip of the rough, honest tar. 

There's a heart in his bosom as noble and true, 
As throbs 'neath the glitter of heaven's dark blue ; 
A heart that though others rmxj tremble and fly, 
"Will shield thee, and save thee, in danger, or die ! 

Then bend with me, frail ones, whose weakness would start 
The full, gushing fount of the rough sailor's heart, 
While the loud thunders roll and the lightnings gleam bright, 
And breathe a warm pra} r er for the seamen to-night. 


Sweet Lovelands, far away 'neath southern skies ; 
Where ruddy summer bends her azure eyes 
With loving smiles, and glances soft and mild, 
As the meek murmurs of a sinless child ; 


And trembling wings of zephyrs waft perfume, 

From treasure-laden cups of coral bloom. 

There woodland chanteth day-long melody, 

To cooling winds that wanton sportively, 

And shake the bright dew from the quivering leaves, 

Upon the tangled maze and mossy eaves ; 

And birds of plumage fold their tired wings, 

At hush of eve, when parting daylight flings 

Its fading glory, from the crimsoned west, 

Around their tiny forms nestling to rest, 

And warble forth their last low requiem-lay, 

To the faint pulses of a dying day. 

There the far-stretching lawn of emerald sheen, 

Profuse of wild flowers nodding o'er the green, 

That lift their painted cheeks to the red lip 

Of wooing Nature, stooping down to sip, 

Then shrink aback in virgin purity, 

And veil their blushing brows in modesty. 

I do remember me the quiet nook 

Within the woodland shades, beside the brook, 

Where the light fawn would come at young twilight, 

When Evening blushed within the arms of Night, 

And timid drink the soft and silvery stream, 

Then startled, flee where Dryads love to dream. 

That singing fountain! — doth it murmur on, 

As in the days of infancy agone ? 

Do the thick clusters of the maple, shade 

The bright green slope where we in childhood played — 

And dip its willowy arms into the stream, 

Where long ago was wove Life's loveliest dream ? 

Perchance the winding path adown the hill, 

Unto the wavelets of the rippling rill — 


That gently sloped from that, sweet cottage door, 

The thistle and wild-briar clambereth o'er. 

Perchance the fairy fountain now is dry, 

Where oft was mirrored childhood's laughing eye ; 

Time's hand, mayhap, hath filled the tiny scoop, 

Whose silver thread crept round the woody slope, 

Now catching beams that straggled through the glade, 

Now darkling, dimpling, in the purple shade, 

Then leaping lightly down a tinkling side, 

With whispers sweet and low as evening-tide. 

The maple leaves that hung, and quivered there, 

Flinging soft music on the breezy air — 

Do they still flutter in the fragrant breath 

That sweeps along the lightly bending heath ? 

Or has the woodman's sounding steel laid low 

The boughs that sheltered us in Ions: ago ? 

Nor heard a pleading tone with echoes free, 

Float from the past — " Oh woodman spare that treeM" 

It may be so — those arms may mouldering lie — 

The little fountain-urn be choked and dry ; 

'Tis but a symbol of the dreams that smiled 

Within the bosom of that laughing child ! 

The promise-stem of joy fall early lay 

Upon the border of Affection's way ! 

The music of the dancing stream that gushed 

From out that trusting heart was early hushed ! 

Sweet Eva ! like the wavelets of the stream, 

Was ebbed the tide of thy delicious dream ! 

Love's lattice, o'er the lawn of Memorjr, 

Look through and sigh ; 'tis all that's left to thee ! 

Yet once again ; I would essaj'" to paint — 
Although the coloring; be thin and faint — 


That little household band as once it drew 
Around the cheerful hearth, at fall of dew. 
The humble-minded farmer, college-bred, 
With warm free heart and knowledge-laden head; 
His mild blue eye and lip, 'mid great and small, 
Had placid smiles and pleasant words for all ; 
And much the wonder was that he should come, 
To plant amid the wilds a rural home ; 
Nursed in the lap of luxury and pride, 
Upon the whirring waves of life's full tide, 
He turned his barque from busy scenes of childhood, 
And anchored down amid a stranger wildwood, 
Content to watch the green and springing grain, 
And lead the tottering boy across the plain, 
Loud prattling as he plucked the violet blue, 
And shook its little leaflets wet with dew ; 
He breathed no sigh for life's far-distant mart, 
But veiled in calm retreat a peaceful heart. 
Yet much, they said, his calling he mistook 
In mooring up in this delightful nook 
To train the tender blade — the cause was plain, 
He better knew of lore than tending grain. 

All are adapted to a certain sphere, 
By Nature's laws — this truth is very clear ; 
The youthful Artist, with his brilliant eye, 
Untaught, in systematic art to dye 
The snowy canvas, steals a leaflet fair, 
And leaves the impress of his genius there ; 
The artful lawyer of consummate skill, 
Though without brief, will be a lawyer still. 
Thus with our farmer nobly delving there, 
Wasting his talents on the "desert air; " 


The truth of Nature's laws, I'll plainly show, 
For when he planted, nothing nice would grow ! 
Yet all unmoved he viewed the scanty store, 
"With grateful heart for that, nor sighed for more ; 
Beloved of all, he smoothly stemmed Life's tide, 
And if he erred it was on virtue's side. 

And then the housewife, with her midnight hair, 
In thick folds parted on her forehead fair, 
And eyes like ebon gems, in silver set, 
Half-hid behind a drooping fringe of jet. 
Brought up in town, she better loved to thread 
The busy mart, than where the elfins tread ; 
Amid the shadows of the dewy dell, 
She loved to roam awhile, but not to dwell : 
The blooming garden owned her nursing hand, 
But better far, the rose-exotic stand ; 
The golden jessamine, the red woodbine, 
Around the cottage eaves she taught to twine, 
Then 'mid their rich luxuriance look aroun' 
With calm content — then wish herself in town ! 
And if she would, she would, and that was all, 
If not, she would not, let what would befall ; 
And if she loved, no storm the tie could sever, 
But cling through summer's sun and wintry weather. 

And there the blue-eyed happy-hearted girl, 
With auburn tresses easy coaxed to curl, 
And round, plump form, and forehead broad and low, 
With fair, meek face and cheeks of softest glow ; 
A purer, truer heart ne'er owned a rest 
Within the parterre of a mortal breast; 
A frown ne'er settled on her sunny brow, 
But if you erred, she'd chide you sweet and low, 


And at the beauty of her gentle tone, 
You shrank abashed, contrasted with your own. 
She was a soft south breeze, that steals along 
With soothing balm, and lowest whispered song, 
Eefreshing, cool, to heated, drooping flowers 
That bend beneath the beams of summer hours : 
Where'er she strayed, her pure and lovely mind, 
Would leave a thread of hopeful light behind. 
Swift as the young gazelle she bounded through 
The breezy woodlands fresh with early dew, 
And cropped the peeping buds that clustered there, 
To wreathe amid her flowing ringlets fair, 
Or danced beside the brooklet's pebbly bed, 
With step as airy as the young fawn's tread, 
And chased the unfledged nestling, tottering light, 
With little wings outspread to aid its flight 
Around the broad old meadow, glowing green. 
Where buttercups and sleepy daisies lean 
Their half-shut eyes ujDon the bolder blade, 
And lift their freshened lids, amid its shade, 
Or noiseless creep amid the vines entwined, 
From her who scampered with less speed behind, 
And breathless list, with throbbing heart, to greet 
The rain-like patter of her tiny feet, 
Then stuff her parted lips with russet gown, 
To keep the ill-suppressed titter down, 
As close she halted by her hiding-place, 
And scanned the premises with knowing face ; 
As through the parted leaves a shining eye 
Is peering down, she nimbly scrambles by, 
And gathering up her slender roe-like feet, 
O'er the bright meadow beats a quick retreat, 


With ringing laugh thrown on the summer wind, 
And leaves the little struggle! far behind. 

That mossy meadow — many a silver lay 
Hath floated there in childhood's halcj^on da}', 
As round the luscious berries clustering bright, 
"Were gathered busy fingers, black and white, 
To pick the rubies from the emerald sward, 
A dainty for the plain but plenteous board : 
And many a snowy tip grew red and gay, 
Tinged with the tide that slowly oozed away 
Beneath two hands, antagonistic, pressed, 
In haste to grasp the nicest and the best ; 
Yet far more ripe and tempting ones, I ween, 
Found home elsewhere, than on the board were seen ! 

And now I'll whisper of the dark-eyed boy, 
His father's pride, his mother's pet and joy ; 
Before his shout the panting rabbit sped, 
And in its burrow hid its throbbing head; 
The frisky squirrel from his height defied him, 
Securely lodged, and chattered as he eyed him. 
Ah, I remember when the Spring's first buds 
Began to blow upon the green hill sides, 
And lilies drooped within the golden beams, 
Upon the margin of the silver streams, 
How lightly his young foot the heather pressed, 
In surreptitious search of tiny nest 
Deep hid amid the fern and tangled hedge, 
Or peeping through the saturated sedge ; 
He'd count the globose treasures o'er, that crowned it, 
But leave the wiry nest-home as he found it, 
A.nd when, in Autumn, crowns of gold were laid 
Upon the forest brows, in tints arrayed — 


When silken leaves, with Summer's life-tide red, 
In gorgeous drapery wove with sunlight-thread, 
Hung round the death-couch of the failing year, 
And Nature starred it with a farewell tear — 
The hushed old woods and rifled fields he'd scan, 
With dog and gun and think himself a man: 
Through the still hours the deep and sullen boom, 
Of hunter's gun to cottage home would loom, 
And in the mind of tiny girl at play, 
Awaken visions of the falling prey. 
And if by chance a fatal charge should launch 
A nimble quadruped from greenwood branch, 
With swelling soul he seized the wincing game, 
Proud as a poet of poetic fame ! 
Ga}' whistling to the snuffing, faithful scout, 
With most important air he'd wheel about, 
Fusee on shoulder, swinging precious store, 
And strike a line of march, nor wait for more — 
Lord of the wilds he strode the woodland drear, 
W ith stately pointer bringing up the rear, 
Until emerging into open ground, 
With gladsome whine, and ears erect, he'd bound 
Headlong adown the broad and sandy tr,aek, 
Full speed for cottage home — now looking back 
To see if youthful Nimrocl is in sight, 
Now plunging forward with renewed delight, 
Till gained the goal, he scales the trembling wall, 
And homeward march of Victor, tells to all. 

Upon the air there rings a merry shout, 
And in the breeze stray curls are floating out, 
As down the slight descent, with childish might, 
The little sister comes, like streak of light ; 


With well pleased smile he views her from afar, 
As on she flutters, like a shooting star, 
And at her, as she patters down the hill, 
He shakes the trophy of his wond'rous skill. 

Xow from the cottage door, a smile of joy 
Is gleaming, like a sunbeam, on her boy ; 
The good dame stands with ready heart and will, 
To pat his pate, and praise his manly skill ; 
Then snug ensconsed upon the shining floor, 
With much ado he " fights his battles o'er." 

Yet once again — I will essay to tell 
Of her, the wanderer wild o'er hill and dell ; 
The brown-haired, frail, and dreamy hazel-e} r ed, 
Who woodland's thickest barriers defied ; 
A sunny, tearful, visionary thing, 
With wayward fancy ever on the wing ; 
Close where the poplar lifts its leafy limbs, 
And the old casement with brown shadows dims, 
From morn till dewy eve she'd lie in trance, 
And drink the nectar of the last romance ! — 
Now creeping snail-like down the darkened stair, 
At farmer's bidding, to the waiting fare, 
Scarce touching it, yet dreaming all the while, 
Of Mortimer's or Sobieski's smile! 
Or picture an ideal, with delight, 
And fix her mind to love it at first sight! 
Poor child ! she drank the flavored beverage up, 
JSTor dreamed a serpent coiled within the cup ! 
Then back with springy step and brightened eye, 
Unto the treasured volume noiseless hie, 
Smooth back the leaf that marked the broken strain, 
Catch up the brilliant thread and wind again, 


Scarce heeding the black eye and slender bill, 
That shine and clatter on the casement-sill, 
Of the red robm come from haunts remote, 
To pour out anthems from his tiny throat, 
Till startled by the turning of a page, 
With ruffled plumage would his might engage, 
And flit and perch upon the jessamine, 
Then stretch his little neck and look within, 
As though he wondered she should waste away 
The golden moments of so fair a clay. 

And when the gorgeous eve's last blushing ray, 
Crimsoned the brow of the departing day, 
With its warm kiss — and cloudlets, floating free, 
Like fairy barques skimming an azure sea, 
Lay calmly moored the golden stars amid, 
And the soft twilight's pale, dew-laden lid 
Drooped heavily upon night's misty cheek, 
And nature slumbered, like an infant meek, 
Down through the sighing grove, with silent tread, 
She'd wander off and linger 'mid the dead. 

That little graveyard, where the blue-box crept 
Above the form of him who early slept 
Beside that old brown church— and where the rose 
Its leaflets scattered at the summer's close, 
She'd roam around, till deeper shadows lay 
Above the jeweled moss of homeward way, 
Then startled by the low wind's plaintive moan, 
That seemed to her young ear a spirit tone, 
A furtive glance around the home of death, 
With whitened cheek and half-suspended breath, 
She'd doubtful cast, and conjure up a face, 
Sly peering from each silent resting place, 



Or fancy shadowy forms amid the leaves 
That swept, and rustled 'gainst the old church eaves !- 
With wild heart-throbs she'd fly like frightened dove, 
Through the dim haze of the ambrosial grove, 
Swift and more swift, as to her childish mind, 
Her echoes seemed like troopers close behind ! 
Till gained the cottage gate, then stand and peer 
Back through the gloom, and chide her idle fear. 

Ah me ! that little chapel, where the leaves 
Hung in thick clusters o'er the mossy eaves, 
And penciled purple patches o'er the sward, 
So smoothly spread around that silent yard, 
When from the open lattice of the east, 
A ruby hand drew up the cloud of mist 
That veiled the waking earth, and the bright eye 
Of Morn flew open with a languid sigh, 
And smiling Nature, meekly looking through 
Long lashes wet with drops of shining dew, 
Admired its own fair face, reflected bright, 
Within a broad, clear mirror of sunlight, 
Suspended by a golden cord on high, 
And let clown by Aurora from the sky— 
It was a blessed spot! Methinks I hear 
The drowsy murmurs of the waters clear, 
That washed along that wild-flower clotted base, 
Winding and flashing with bewitching grace, 
Leaving soft whispers as they crept from sight, 
Like silver serpent gliding through moonlight. 

Methinks I hear again, as long ago, 
The gifted preacher's deep and gushing flow 
Of holy sounds, as 'neath that sacred dome, 
He pointed upward to a heavenly home, 


With, blue eyes beaming with intense delight, 

As beatific regions heaved in sight ; 

With form erect, and hand uplifted high, 

He'd paint the glorious home beyond the sky, 

Then in foreboding accents, low, portray 

The horrors of the retribution day, 

Delineating it with graphic zeal, 

And crown the consummation with a peal, 

From lifted hand upon the desk brought clown, 

To make you think 'twas the last trumpet's sound ! 

" An Israelite indeed," in whom no guile 

Lay hid beneath his warm and soul-felt smile; 

Hard by the cottage home, dim through the trees, 

That ofttimes shut it out, bent by the breeze, 

The good man had his home — a peaceful spot, 

Where cool recess and nook, and shady grot 

Uprose around that mammoth lawn of green, 

Where settling sunshine spread its silvery sheen, 

Faint struggling through the trembling foliage, down, 

To star with gold the sombre shades of brown ; 

And sloping gently to the wild waves' roar, 

The long lane leading to the good man's door, 

Swept round the angle, crossed 'by noisy rills, 

That rose beyond, and fell among the hills, 

So coolly trickling down the rugged side, 

You longed to stoop and drink the tempting tide, 

Now leaping edges 'mid the laurel leaves, 

And dripping like spring-rain from cottage-eaves, 

Then crawling lazily beneath a cloak 

Of velvet grass, into the dark Roanoke, 

Whose eddying waves climbed up the river's brink, 

In wreaths of spray, for infant buds to drink, 


That bend in groups, with half-closed eyes, and dream 
Upon the green edge of the dimpling stream, 
That softly sings a soothing lullaby, 
With bird-notes for a lingering symphony. 

Methinks I hear again the gleeful tone 
That echoed 'mid those hills in years agone, 
As o'er the crackling heath, the sounding beat, 
Went swelling onward, from the many feet 
That clambered up the wild and tangled height, 
Dragging "slow length along," with cheeks as bright 
As maple blossoms floating in a heap 
Of crimson, on the brook far down the steep — 
A happy group, ere yet the breath of years 
Had soiled the petals of the heart with tears ; 
A sister-band with girlish spirits free 
As the wild waves that walk the trackless sea. 

Where are they now — those fair unfettered ones, 
Whose bounding spirits gushed in ringing tones 
Around those dim old hills, as, side by side, 
They quit the summit for the glassy tide, 
Now clinging to the stems that kindly lent 
Support, to save them from too swift descent ; 
Half-pouting, laughing, as the wild-rose hedge 
They scrambled through clown to the water's edge — 
Where are they now — the group that gathered there? 
Goes dov/n the Past, and "echo answers — where?' 

See, yonder, crouched beneath a giant oak!^- 
That stretches out its long arms o'er Eoanoke, 
A form bespattered with its shiny tears, 
Whose head is silvered with the dust of years, 
Enticing hard the flirty, finny tribe, 
The writhing, dainty 'lurement to imbibe — 


Offsprings a wilful one with streaming hair, 
To greet the well known angler dozing there, 
Looks coaxing in his face with pleading eye, 
And begs the good man "please to let her try.' 1 
With kindly smile he yields the bending rod, 
And settles down into a quiet nod, 
Until arrested by a whispered sign, 
Bidding him wake and watch the bobbing line ; 
Good nature in his sleepy eye grows full, 
As o'er he leans, to teach her "when to pull ; 
With nervous swing she twirls her cottage hat, 
All heedless down upon the sobby plat, 
And firmly grasps the reed with both small hands, 
Awaiting with fixed gaze his wise commands; 
Off goes the taughtened line with sudden twirl, 
And round the sinking buoy the waters curl — 
Now comes the test — and with a meny peal, 
And mighty pull, out flirts a floundering — eel! 

Loud rose the cries, and off they scattered wide, 
Winding away along the dark hill-side 
With cautious tread, now peering through the brake, 
In search of rounded coil of dreaded snake. 
Fancy converting every harmless limb, 
Into like monster on the water's rim. 

The good man watches with a twinkling eye, 
And shakes his sides to see the young troop fly, 
Till round their forms the dusky hills are closing, 
Then dips the line, and sets again to dozing. 

Who of that girlish band that wandered free, 
Through the wild woods, or o'er the velvet lea, 
Or lingered, awed, around the vine-clad sod 
That rounded o'er the holy man of God, 


Or wove a brilliant wreath for years to come, 
Close by the beat of brooklet's drowzy drum, 
Or scrambled up the rough hill's dark defiles, 
Or bounded through the honeysuckle wilds, 
Dreamed that the future nursed a pensive lay, 
From far-off home, back to those scenes to stray, 
From one of that gay group whose trembling sigh 
Should waken up the slumbering years gone by, 
To whisper mournful to that parted train, 
Of joys departed ne'er to come again ? 

Yet so it was — of all, alone 'twas mine 
The fate to worship at the Muse's shrine — 
The dreamy Muse, that Solitude endears, 
Courted in smiles, yet oftener, far, in tears ! 

1 deserted. Homestead ! none will ever know 
Delights surpassing those of long ago, 
When cozily around thy crackling fire, 
Was wheeled the "old arm-chair" of loving sire, 
Amid his little flock — while gathered snug, 
Poor Pussy purrs upon the warm hearth-rug, 
And softly patting at the window-pane 
Is heard the music of the drowsy rain — 
It was a happy hearth, but change hath come 
O'er all the scenes of that deserted home ! 

Sweet Lovelands, 'twas to thee I struck my lay, 
And with thy name my song shall melt away ; 
And with a parting glance far through the maze 
That clouds the distant scenes of other days, 
Unstring rny harp, and let the curtain fall — 
Alas, the change that hath come over all ! 



I'm thinking of the days, mother, 
The days now long gone by, 

When first in rosy infant years, 
I met thy loving eye. 

Thy cheek was shadeless then, mother, 
The light of youth was there, 

And beautiful the sunny beams 
Upon thy forehead fair. 

But now the hand of Time, mother, 
Hath flung a feeble trace — 

A veil of pensive thoughtfulness, 
Across thy blessed face. 

There's less of lightness now, mother, 

Within thy gentle tone ; 
Less of the soul's wild joy ousness, 

Than in the years agone. 

And yet thy cheek is smooth, mother, 

Thy wealth of jetty hair, 
The hand of Time hath swept, nor left 

A line of silver there. 


But ah ! the heart, the heart, mother, 
No change, with time, hath known ; 

Tis jet a full, free, gushing fount, 
As in the years agone. 

Ah me ! the years gone by, mother, 

I live them o'er again ; 
I'm bounding through the blossomed wilds, 

And o'er the mossy plain, 

Till, wearied with the race, mother, 

I lean upon thy breast, 
And find in thy supporting arms 

A cradle-home of rest. 

And when the fever-flush, mother, 

Was on my burning cheek, 
Methinks I see thy watching form, 

So like an angel meek, 

Bending above my aching head, 
To soothe its throbbing pain — 

Ah me ! a love like thine, mother, 
I ne'er shall know again ! 

I knew not all thy worth, mother, 

Till fate had traced a line, 
And reared a barrier of space 

Between thy heart and mine. 

But when with throbbing brow, mother, 

I roamed that distant land, 
A lone and yearning wanderer, 

Amid a stranger band ; 


Ah. ! then I learned to feel, mother, 

We ne'er can find a rest, 
In this low world, so soft and true, 

As on a mother 's breast ! 

I never can repay, mother, 

The debt of love I owe, 
For all the care and tenderness 

Of now and long ago. 

And could I live the days, mother, 

The by-gone days all o'er, 
I would efface full many a trace, 

And strive to bless thee more ! 

There's many a thoughtless word, mother, 

Of childhood's careless day, 
And many a wild and heedless deed, 

I fain would sweep away. 

I would not tarry here, mother, 

"When thy life-cord is riven, 
But sleep with thee the sleep of death, 

And go with thee to Heaven ! 

For well I know I ne'er shall find 

A love within another, 
So fond and true and pure as thine, 

My own beloved mother ! 


f jji tn\ t ink is 36rnltrn, 

" But 'tis useless to upbraid thee 
"With thy past or present state ; 
What thou wast my fancy made thee, 

What thou art, I know too late." — Byron. 

The last link that bound me to thee is now broken, 

The heart that once loved thee is free ; 
The bosom whose peace you've invaded, gives token 

Of sighs, but it sighs not for thee. 

The bright buds that bloomed in life's earlier years, 

In this bosom lie blighted and dead, 
And the leaflets of Memory hang dripping with tears, 

For the joys that forever have fled ! 

You know I once loved thee, though now I am free, 

Ay, loved thee too fondly, in vain ; 
All the hopes of my young heart were given to thee, 

Ah ! can you return them again ? 

Can you give back the trust of life's roseate hours? 

The peace of an unfettered heart ? 
Can you give back the freshness to Love's faded flowers, 

Whose bloom thou hast bidden depart ? 

No more ! ah ! no more can their beauty return, 

So crushed by Wo's deadliest blast, 
And memory hangs weeping around the pale urn 

That marks the dark grave of the Past ! 


I cannot npbraid thee — go ! go and forget ! 

Or smile at the wreck thou hast made ; 
Unnumbered with days, be the day that we met — 

Prelude to affection betrayed. 

The last link is broken — our paths lead apart — 

May coldness inspirit thy way, 
Nor Kemorse thrust its venomous fang to thy heart, 

For the bliss thou hast blasted for aye ! 

Farewell ! — what a waste of pale hopes lies afar, 

Evoked by that soul-stirring strain ! 
Sweet hopes that lie crushed with Love's earliest star, 

To bless us, ah ! never again ! 

Farewell ! thou hast darkened the heart that was thine ; 

'Twas the semblance of Honor that bound it ; 
I'll return to thee calmly, the one that was mine, 

With no vine of affection around it. 

Farewell ! ay, farewell ! — all our dreamings were vain — 
Hadst thou known how this bosom could feel, 

Thou surely hadst spared it the withering pain, 
Beyond earthly power to heal ! 

Farewell ! — I can brave thy upbraidings and tears, 

Nor weep for the link that is broken ; 
The cords thou couldst waken, in long buried years, 

Give back to thy name not a token. 

Farewell and J "orever ! — when Thought wends away 

To the heart that once fondly was thine, 
Remembrance will whisper its maddening lay, 

And Eemorse stino- the one that was mine ! 





My noble Coz, I may not rightly tell 

How much I prize thy gift, invaluable ; 

I've turned and turned each glossy leaf of white, 

Unfolding gems, the brightest in the crown 

Of a proud nation's glory. And I've thought 

Of tinselled wealth, and dreamed of laurelled Fame, 

Till the faint lingerings of a roseate day 

Have melted in the mist of twilight dim, 

And the fair, virgin moon, of palest gold, 

Peeps down with love, from her blue home afar, 

Shaking her shining tresses of soft beams 

Upon each page of pearl. And sparkling dew 

Comes dripping from the urn of the fringed night, 

To the sweet, waxen cups of half-blown flowers, 

That bend their jeweled rims to the red lip 

Of light-browed fays, that stoop to drink 

The cooling nectar. Away in the deep sea 

Of Heaven's blue, floats out a shining fleet 

Of stars, that tip the violet waves of air, 


With golden fringe, but pales to silver, in 

The clear, deep lake of light, that brightly bears 

The gondola of the gay Queen of Night, 

Upon its breast of beams. Oh ! I have gazed 

Upon this sea of azure, tinged with dyes, 

Till Thought flew up, and painted a bright name, 

With pencil dipped in ether's vase of hues, 

Upon each star-barque floating on the flood 

Of the blue ocean of immensity. 

Dear Coz, how like the wreath of star-gems, twined 

In yonder heaven, this circlet here, that binds 

Our nation's brow. That spans a world of love ; 

This gilds fair Freedom's coronal of pride, 

Shedding rich lustre on her marble dome, 

Speeding our glorious Eagle in her flight, 

Upward and onward to the brilliant sun. 

But one bright star lies crushed, and darkly dim, 

On the dull brow of Death ! A star hath set 

Since first this fillet wound these silken leaves ; 

Its struggling beams, folded in sable shroud, 

Lies dimmed for aye, beyond the walls of Time ! 

Ah ! soon the hands that wrought this living wreath, 

Shall, too, lie cold ! Proud hearts shall pulse no more, 

And lips, all eloquent, shall hush in death ! 

Oh ! when the Monarch of the misty Tomb, 

Eobs Earth's tiara of each burnished beam 

That glitters here, Heaven grant the immortal part 

Of crushed Mortality may float for aye, 

Upon the eternal beams of His own love ! 


% Itttr jut If $tt. 


A Star hath set ! the last faint gleam of gold 
Hath faded out in darkness ! Never more 
The sparkling gem shall stud the coronet 
Of a proud nation's glory ! " Nevermore I" 
Ah ! never shall the zenith of a sky 
Of mighty grandeur, give its splendor back, 
To gild the brow of Earth ! Plucked from its throne 
Of star-girt majesty, the Spoiler's hand, 
Tinged with the quivering blaze of mortal Fame, 
Folds up the struggling beams in sable shroud, 
And lays them down beyond the walls of Time. 
Out from its ocean-grave, no prisoned ray 
Shall glimmer back, far o'er the trackless way, 
To tinge the wreath wrought by an Intellect 
Of loftiest power. A wreath that twines 
In deathless lustre, round the Parian urn 
Of mortal might. 

A star hath set, in gloom ! 
No more the forum of a nation proud, 
Shall hail its rise ! The Spoiler's tyrant grasp 


Gives back no gathered gem from Earth's rich crown. 
Oh, conquerer Death! Despoiler, thou shall yield 
Thy jewels up. Thy brazen shield shall crush 
Beneath thy stolen spoil ! What hast thou done ! 
Climbed to the summit of a nation's pride, 
And hurled its glory down ! — torn from its crest 
A gem to decorate thy midnight brow ! — 
Kobbed Earth's tiara of a burnished beam ! 
Give back thy prize, oh Death ! yield up thy prey ! 
Heaven tears thy wrested wealth of Earth away ! 
Hope ! kiss the dew from sweet Affection's eye, 
And softly hush fond nature's mourning sigh ; 
Then plume thy sunny wings and float away, 
To seek the splendor of a stolen ray, 
Amid the beams of Heaven's tiara. 
Oh monarch Death ! fold up thy sable wing, 
Nor boast the anguish of thy maddening sting, 
"Eternal Hope" a healing balm can bring, 
To cheat thy hate Oh lustrous, fadeless star ! 
The glory of thy brilliance burns afar ! 
Affection's heart, Hope's golden way hath trod, 
To hail thy dawn before the throne of God ! 


3 it 'Xminnt tjim's $Ud. 

What though the wings of darkness spread 

Above my head, 
And sorrow's wild and icy dart 

Is at my heart ; 
This can relume my darkened breast. 

In Heaven there's Rest. 

I'm wandering in a varied way 

Of chansreful rav ; 
I'm roaming through a thorny maze 

Of changing clays ; 
Yet this can give to life a zest. 

In Heaven there's Rest. 

Let falsehood stain life's fairest leaf, 

With withering 'grief, 
And perish Love's most cherished bloom, 

Within the tomb, 
Yet this can gild Hope's fading crest. 

In Heaven there's Rest 


% it 51 1 1 nj n r if . 

It was the sweet, the dewy hour of eve ; 
Star-gems bespangled the deep azure scroll 
That bright unrolled above the quiet breast 
Of dreaming Earth. A voice of music strange, 
Like spirit-whispers stole upon my ear, 
And wheresoe'er it listed, led us on. 

I saw a purling stream of sparkles bright, 

Bearing upon its light and silvery wave, 

Innumerable gems and jewels rare, 

That flashed and sparkled in the glad sunshine, 

To wistful e}-es of thousands crowded round 

Its emerald rim, to drink the liquid tide, 

And grasp with eager hands the golden freight. 

And saw I one in manhood's glowing prime, 

Turn from its bed the richly burdened tide, 

And unmolested by obtruding hands, 

With burning lips and brightly flashing ej^cs, 

He fondly gathered up the burnished ore, 

Delighted clipping in the bright cool wave, 

Till Life's sun to meridian arose. 

As from the zenith slowly sank the orb, 

A beauteous spirit softly fluttered down, 


On bright and painted wings of loveliest line, 
Through ether's blue immense, and gentty touched 
The o'er-enamored toiler. Startled wide, 
Upon the bright-winged messenger he gazed, 
And tremulously whispered — "What wouldst thou?" 


"Poor mortal ! I have watched thee long and well, 
From fair and earliest dawn of rosy life- 
Through blissful, buoyant youth with thee have gone, 
And shielded thee and blessed thy bounding heart ; 
And pitying thee, in manhood's fairest years, 
I come from yonder bright abode of bliss — 
Together let us reason. What is man ? 
He cometh forth as a flower and is cut down ; 
He fleeth as a shadow and is not ; 
His life, a vapor, melteth soon away ; 
Then whose shall all these hoarded treasures be ? 
Wilt thou heap wrath against the day of wrath ? 
If he shall win the whole of earth and lose 
Eternity, what is man profited ? 
Away from this unsatisfying stream, 
That rolls its golden stores to lure to death ! 
I, Righteousness of Purity's bright band, 
Will lead thee to a deep and crystal fount, 
Whose waters quaffed, thou nevermore shalt thirst." 

Upon the shining speaker's cherub face, 

That glowed with pure angelic loveliness, 

The toiler gazed entranced, and murmured, faint — 


"Almost thou dost persuade to be of thee I" 
Now on the singing waves that seemed to flash 
With light unwonted, fell his thoughtful eye, 
And bent caressing o'er the baubles bright, 
He madly cried " For this time go thy way ! 
In time convenient I will call for thee !" 
A pitying tear the kindly Angel dropped 
O'er the infatuated child of earth, 
Then spread his painted wings and soared away, 
Up to the throne, through ether's violet sea. 

Amid the golden gems that floated on, 
Upon the dazzling tide, the sunbeams grouped, 
And warmed his fevered brow as on he toiled, 
To grasp the brilliant jewels rolling on, 
Thick clustering to his feet, exhaustless. 
The slanting rays of pale and feeble gleams, 
Bespoke the harvest past, the summer gone ! 
Again a spirit bright with pinions broad, 
On music winds waved down and softly touched, 
With golden wand, the toiler's heated brow. 
The glittering dross he tremblingly resigned, 
And on the shining form affrighted gazed. 


" Mortal, seest thou yon sun how faint it gleams, 
As low it stoopeth down to yon dark sea? 
Soon shall it set for aye, beneath its tide ! 
Soon as its golden urn shall dip yon waves, 
Thy soul shall be the sport of mocking fiends, 
Who lure 4 thee thus so sweetly on in Time, 



To torture thee throughout Eternity ! 

Awake thou sleeper ! for thy life escape ! 

In all the plain stay not ! I, Temperance, 

Of Love's pure band, will guard thee to yon mount, 

And panoply thy form, that thou mayest stand 

Firm in the evil day." 


" Spirit, see here ! 
How soothingly these sjDarkling jewels sing, 
Upon the bosom soft of this sweet stream ! 
Let me but gather these that glow so fair, 
And then, bright Angel, I will go with thee !" 

With eyes bedewed with warm compassion-pearls, 
The cherub plumed his light and sunny wings, 
And floated back to join the angel-choir. 
Eve's shadows fluttered o'er the withered brow 
Of the pale straggler. Life's chill, wintry winds 
Swept round his drooping form as on he toiled, 
Beside the witching stream. The fading sun 
His last, and lengthened beam of burnish threw 
Amid his snowy locks, ere it withdrew 
Forever. Upon its fading beauty, 
In distance paling, smilingly he gazed, 
And whiles he murmured with a tranquil brow — 
" Soul, thou hast much in store for many years, 
Eat, drink, and merry be " — a seraph wing, 
The evening zephyr broke, and radiant form, 
In awful majesty descended near. 
Before the brilliant glance he trembling shrank, 
And cowered 'neath the sword suspended o'er. 



" Judgment-to-come, mortal, the name I bear, 
Of Justice's bold and never-yielding band ; 
Almost thy days are numbered ; goeth down 
Thy sun of Life in dim and starless night. 
Rejected, scorned, two spirit-messengers, 
Hast thou, poor mortal ! quail you not 
Before Judgment-to-come, the glittering sword 
Of Justice, shall be speedily unsheathed, 
And find a scabbard in tlry mangled soul!'' 

And as he reasoned long of righteousness, 
Of temperance, and of judgment to conic, 
The guilty toiler trembled. 


" Spirit, see here ! 
Almost this golden cup is running o'er! 
A little longer let me gather up 
The sparkling gems, and brim this silver urn, 
And then, fair cherub, I will go with thee! 

A voice from Heaven sounded in his ear — 
"Unto his idols joined ! — let him ah 
And the bright spirit of the Lord went up ! 

'Twas midnight, and the toiler's aching head, 

A thorny pillow pressed ; and as he watched 

The seeming flight of some far-distant one. 

In agony he shrieked — " Come back ! come back !" 


A dark one laid his wan and icy hand 

Upon his pallid brow, — " Not thou ! not thou!" 

In deep despair, he cried : "No mercy here!" 

The mocker laughed, and wrapped his ebon wings, 

The icy form around, and bore him down, 

Deep down to deathless avo ! Long years rolled on ; 

Upon the boiling waves the toiler rose ; — 

I heard a watchman cry 

"Oh, spirit lost! 
What wouldst thou, in exchange, give for thy soul?" 
A shout of agony came bounding o'er 
The rock-cased gulf of deep and dark despair — 


"Each particle of earth, go number o'er; 
A million ages to each atom tell ; 
Compute the whole, — as many ages hei-e, 
If then Eternity, Eternity might end !" 

A fiendly host with horrid wo begrimmed, 
Upon the wild and raging waves arose ; 
The smoking waters heaved beneath the swell, 
Of misery's mighty group of tortured souls ; 
And racked that dark abode, a loud, long wail, 
From spirits lost — 

"Watchman what of the night?" 
A torturing sound rolled back from Zion's wall — 
" Eternity, thou fool, Eternity !" 

love's young dream. 


£nr T s fnttitg Dnitnt. 

She left her childhood's home, 

A young and trusting bride ; 
To distant lands he bore her, 

In triumph by his side. 
She thought not of the future, 

The friends she left behind, 
For in his arms she only, 

True happiness could find. 

She bade farewell to scenes 

Where her first hours were passed, 
And not one shade of sadness 

Her sunny brow o'ercast. 
Her young and pure affections 

To him were wholly given, 
His smile dispelled life's every care, 

With him this world was heaven. 


And he was worthy of her — 

That noble, generous breast 
Was but the seat of virtues 

Which give to life a zest. 
She was his earthly idol, 

No other lips had power 
To soothe his troubled spirit 

In dark misfortune's hour. 


* * * * * * 

Time flew. Long years rolled by, 

And noted as they passed, 
That yet no change was wrought ; 

But ah ! it came at last I 
Too soon, alas ! she saw 

Her fondest hopes decay, 
All joy, and Love's Young Dream 

In sorrow passed away ! 

Far from her native land 

She dwelt on former hours, 
When time swept softly by, 

And strewed her way with flowers, 
When friends that ne'er could change, 

Were ever by her side, 
With words of love and smiles of light, ■ 

For her, their joy and pride. 


But lie ? Ah ! was lie false ? 

Could faithlessness e'er rest 
Within that once fond heart, 

With noblest virtues blest? 
Ah no — he loved her still — 

A pure and sacred flame, 
Upon the altar of his heart, 

Burned, as of yore, the same. 

He gazed upon that cheek, 

From which the rose had fled. 
What thought he ? That her heart 

For him with anguish bled? 
Ah no ! the green-eyed monster 

Around his heart had coiled ! 
He nourished it, and Eden's bowers 

Were soon of peace despoiled ! 

He thought she loved another, 

And madness filled his brain, 
No tears, or fond devotion, 

Could confidence regain ! 
And yet he treasured all 

Her words and looks of yore, 
Her smiles of trusting fondness 

He ivould not hope for, more ! 

But why distrust the truth 

Of one who all resigned 
For him, and sought afar 

True happiness to find? 


Alas ! some thoughtless glance 
Had wrung a heart so zealous ; 

She durst not look above, 

A star could make him jealous ! 

That breast, once true and noble, 

Was now dark passion's throne, 
But ah ! he wept in madness, 

O'er joys forever flown! 
Whoe'er would find perfection — 

That gem of priceless worth — 
Go seek it in yon heaven, 

'Tis not of mortal birth. 

At length she read it all — 

She took his icy hand, 
And sighed, " Farewell, forever ! 

I seek my native land !" 
Despair now filled his bosom — 

He read his future fate 
In her indignant glances — 

Alas ! what woes await ! 

Too late he learned his madness, 

And knelt in humbled pride 
Before that injured creature, 

His gentle, spotless bride. 
Too well he loved, he said, 

And mourned his hapless fate ; 
He deep repentance felt — 

But ah — it came too late I 

love's young dream. 77 

* * * * * -Jr 

* * * * * ■* 



She sought her childhood's home, 

A sad and hopeless bride ; 
From distant lands she wandered 

Back to her father's side. 
She thought now of the future, 

The one she left behind, 
Far from his bosom, never 

She happiness could find. 

Once more she greeted scenes 

Where halcyon hours were passed, 
But now deep shades of sadness 

O'er her pale brow were cast. 
For, ah ! her first affections 

Had early been betrayed, 
And all her words and smiles of love, 

With dark distrust repaid ! 

She lingered o'er the Past 

With sad though vain regret ; 
Unworthy though she knew him, 

She never could forget. 
She mingled with the gay, 

The fairest of them all ; 
But ah ! the heart was absent, 

No joy could on it fall ! 


To Heaven she turned, and sought 

Forgetfulness in prayer, 
And in oblivion's shade 

To throw corroding care. 
'Twas vain! "Within a darkened room 

She lay — that being fair — 
No murmur 'scaped her lips, but ah ! 

The heart was breaking there ! 

* * * * * * 


* * * * * -K- 

He came. She knew him not — 

That youthful, lovely brow, 
In life with sadness veiled, 

Was calm and placid now. 
He pressed those pale, cold lips, 

He oft had kissed with pride, 
'Twas done — Love's Dream had fled — 

He breathed her name and died ! 


Wfym sjroll m III mni xtgutit ? 

When the waves of Time are still, 
When its pulses cease to thrill — 
When the toils of earth are done, 
When its varied course is run — 
When shall hush the saddened sigh, 
When the parting tear shall dry — 
When the aching head shall rest 
From its weight of cares oppressed — 
When beyond all mortal pain, 
Then, oh ! then we'll meet again ! 

Where sweet flowers perennial bloom, 
Where the green turf hides no tomb — 
Where bright, living waters flow, 
Where the fruits of Pleasure grow — 
Where unceasing raptures rise, 
Where no bud of Joy e'er dies — 
Where the songs of praise ne'er end, 
But with Love their softness blend — 
"Where immortal spirits reign," 
There oh ! may we meet again ! 




Why don't you come and sing, my loye? 

We've waited all too long 
To catch the low iEolian tone 

Of thy sweet mountain song. 
Don't you remember songsters flee 

Unto our Southern clime, 
To make their softest melody 

In Autumn's glorious time ? 

Then, warbler, plume thy spirit-wings, 

And quit thy Northern bowers ; 
The chill that shrouds thy beauties all, 

Lies gently yet o'er ours. 
There's many a lovely eye of blue, 

And many a rosy cheek, 
Half-hid beneath the quivering leaves, 

Still smiling pure and meek. 


We love to look upon their brows, 

And meet their azure eye, 
And watch their lines of braided light 

Grow brighter as they die, 
"We hear a voice in fading flowers, 

And falling leaflets say 
We soon, like them, must fade and fall, 

And silent pass away ! 

There's wisdom in the drooping things 

That bend in Autumn's breath, 
Telling to frail Mortality 

A tale of change and death ! 
They say 'tis sad to see the rose 

And Summer's bright green leaf 
Fold up their soft and silken dyes 

In "sear and yellow" grief. 

But we could never think it sad, 

Or breathe a lonely sigh 
To see the lovely things of earth 

Wither away and die. 
For in the low, hushed dreaminess 

That steals the breath of flowers, 
The heart of Nature seems to beat 

In unison with ours. 

There is a kindred loneliness 
In Autumn's whispered tone, 

Half-sorrowing, yet not sad, that wakes 
An echo like its own. 


Why should we sigh, to see them die, 

The beautiful of earth, 
The fairy Spring will shortly fling 

New brightness o'er their birth. 

And when at length their infant strength 

Shall wake to light and bloom, 
How shall we prize their laughing eyes, 

Just peeping from the tomb ! 
For there's a deeper thrill of joy 

That waits the absent dear — 
A wilder bound o'er long-lost found, 

Than what is always near. 

Then let them lie, with bright blue eye 
Beneath the ice-shroud hid, 

A spirit away in a sunnier day, 
Will lift up their waxen lid. 

Oh ! never let the shade of hours, 

Fall o'er thy harp's bright string ; 
When Nature's gladness all hath fled, 

Then is the time to sing. 
When Winter comes to still the throb 

Of Nature, with his darts, 
Let's rear a wall of sun and song, 

To keep him from our hearts. 

There are blossoms in our breasts, my love, 

That Winter cannot blight, 
A garden of perpetual bloom, 

That may be ever bright, 


"Pis true vicissitudes may fling 

Around it shadows chill, 
But there are heart-buds 'neath the shade, 

To burst and blossom still. 

Far more than half the ills we meet 

Are blessings in disguise ; 
When Time hath lifted up their mask. 

They're lovely in our eyes. 

And real ills that crowd about 

Our life-way dim and drear, 
Imagination magnifies 

With, trembling, idle fear. 
Then let us smile, as down the aisle 

Of life, we silent glide, • 

And shun the shade that clouds the glade, 

And seek the brightest side. 

For there's a hand that gently slopes 

Our pathway to the tomb ; 
A mighty arm to shield from harm, 

And guide us through earth's gloom — 
A kindly power that lights each hour, 

And smooths our pathway here ; 
Then let us go through weal or wo, 

Nor ever faint or fear. 

Then come from thy far-off home, my love, 
And wander through Southern bowers ; 

We've waited long for thy mountain song 
To whisper of Autumn hours. 


There are beauties abroad in this sunny land, 

Handmaidens of father Time, 
Bestarred with the gold that his lavish hand 

Hath showered in this fair clime. 

We met them of late in the deep old woods, 

Where they listed the Autumn breeze, 
That swept back the tresses to kiss their cheeks, 

Then singing went through the trees. 
'Twas a playful sprite that wandered that night. 

Let loose at the twilight hour, 
For the leaves that it met flew off in a pet, 

And fell in a glittering shower. 

We thought as we gazed on the forest's brow, 

By the light of a sunset ray, 
That an angel had been to the summer's urn, 

To gather its tints all away, 
And halting awhile 'neath the dark, cool shade, 

The lovely, returning saint, 
While sleeping had tilted her vase of hues, 

And sprinkled all earth with the paint ! 

Then come from thy Northern home, my love, 

And sing to the drooping flowers ; 
There are stranger hearts that would gladly rove 

With thee, in these Autumn hours, 
But there's another silent harp 

Unstrung in " Tara's hall ;" 
The world hath made a loop of care, 

And hung it on the wall ! 


Oil ! is it not unkind, my love, 

The world so cold should grow, 
As to seal up the fount of song 

And leave us waiting so ? 
The world with all its witching wiles, 

Might woo me with its art, 
Its zealous hand could never shut 

The lattice of my heart. 

No ! let me rove unfettered, free, 

Along fair Fancy's strand, 
And gather shells of memory 

In an ideal land. 
They're frail and tintless ones, I know, 

But all of earth's false art, 
Could never soothe the void they fill 

Within a yearning heart. 

Oh ! would some kindly sprite would steal 

Away to "Tara's hall," 
And softly loose that silent harp, 

And gently let it fall! 
The echo that its strings would wake, 

Might win a lovelier lay, 
For minstrel hearts so soft are framed, 

A whisper can betray. 


* vr -If -5fr * -3f 
* * -X- *. * * 

* * * -A" * * 


Good night, my love — my song is clone, 

The stars are in the sky ; 
The moon looks through my casement here, 

From her blue throne on high. 
Good night — yet shall it, sister, be, 

That I have sung in vain ? 
I'll sing no more, indeed, my love, 

Till you begin the strain. 

<&\i SSrrntij nf iCor. 

Dearest, I sit in lingering light, 

Weaving a song for thee ; 
Oh ! from my full heart may it float, 

A strain of melody, 
To waken in thy bosom's fane, 

Remembrance like its own, 
And waft from out thy sunny heart, 

Thy long unlisted tone. 


To mingle with the happy dreams 

To soothe fond Memory, 
As down the dell of dormant days, 

It wends away to thee. 
To thee, dear Kate ! to thee, my own ! — 

Love of my childhood's years, 
Soother of all my infant griefs, 

Sharer of girlhood's tears. 

Oh ! if omniflc will were mine, 

Thy life, dear Kate, were this : 
A barge festooned with loveliness, 

And freighted deep with bliss ; 
And each bright year unlinked from Life 

By Time's soft hand would be 
Like to a blossom-belted isle 

Within a smiling sea. 

And as adown the stream of days, 

Unruffled by a blast, 
Thy barque swept on, each hope would be 

A gem in all the Past. 
And I would weave a wreath, dear Kate, 

A wreath befitting thee, 
Whose pearly hue would typify 

Thy true heart's purity. 

I would not twine the blushing- bud 


Amid thy wavy hair, 
Nor mate the lily of the vale 
With aught less pure or fair. 


The tinted rose with all its pride, 
Thy brow would not adorn, 

For though its breath exhales perfume, 
Its heart enfolds a thorn ! 

And when Life's years were all unstrung 

By Age's feeble hand, 
Love's golden links would pave thy way 

Up to the better land. 
But ah ! dear Kate, what fragile thoughts 

Float through Utopia's clime ; 
For life is but a "bridge of sighs," 

Thrown o'er the gulf of Time ! 

And we must walk the varying way, 

And wander far apart ; 
But though our paths converge not here, 

We'll still be one in heart. 
They say that Time can baffle Love, 

And shut its starry eye, 
But Love enkindled by true worth, 

Can never change or die. 

Nor fame, nor wealth, nor beauty's grace, 

Can fetter my full heart, 
And if my soul is blent with thine, 

I know thee — as thou art. 
You know how well I loved thee, Kate, 

In life's unsullied day, 
When my unfolding, tiny heart 

Upon thy bosom lay ; 


You know how I was wont to fold 

My girlish arms to rest, 
And dream of " Heaven and glorious things," 

Soft pillowed on thy breast. 
And how I loved to steal a kiss 

On thy unconscious brow ; 
Oh ! I would give a world, sweet Kate, 

To press its polish now ! 

I will not, dearest, think that we 

Shall meet on earth no more ; 
No ! let us hope to meet again, 

And live the by-gone o'er ; 
But if ere then, my dreamless heart, 

Sleeping in earth should lie, 
I'll watch thee from the stars, dear Kate, 

And bless thee from the sky. 

Yet should thy spirit be the first 

To print a golden star 
Upon the drapery of eve 

That falls in folds afar; 
Oh ! wreathe thy angel wings, dear Kate, 

Around this heart of mine, 
And soothe its wo, till (rod shall give 

Its pulsings back to thine. 

And when the last faint sigh of life, 
From this hushed heart is riven, 

Well loved on earth, we then shall meet, 
In heaven, dear Kate, in heaven! 



€JTJ IttgjPa fflfyt&pt. 

I WAS dreaming, sadly dreaming, 

Dreaming of the things of yore, 
With the lamp-light dimly gleaming, 

My sad bosom, dimly o'er. 
I was thinking, darkly thinking, 

Of the tomb of buried bliss, 
Whiles my spirit sore, was linking. 

Darkly linking wreath like this : — 

What is life ? — a thorny winding, 

Mazy winding hedged with care : 
Itayless winding blackly binding 

Fainting spirits to despair ! 
What is Hope ? — a phantom minion, 

Luring only to beguile ; 
Phantom minion, with its pinion 

Shrouding up the soul's young smile ! 


What is Love? — the bane of gladness, 

\^ Poisonous drop in Eeason's cup ; 

Bane of gladness, wooing madness, 
Drinking all the spirit up ! 
" Sister" — came a whisper, mildly, 
Breathed into my dreaming ear, 
And dismayed, I started wildly, 
Wildly started I in fear. 

Close beside me knelt a creature, 

Lovely creature, young and fair, 
And I scanned each perfect feature 

Of the Angel kneeling there. 
"Sister" — spake she — "dream not sadly, 

Of the joys forever gone ; 
The morrow's sun may shine more gladly, 

Darkness comes before the dawn. 

" Life is not so dim and dreary, 
As thy yearning spirit dreams ; 
Look beyond this shadow weary, 

With soft light the future beams. 
Say not, Love is only sorrow, 

Sister, Love is happiness ; 
'Tis the lamp that gilds the morrow, 
' God is Love,' and Love is bliss. 

" I have watched thy hopeless dreaming, 
Grazing in thy sad, dark eye ; 
I have seen despair's dread seeming, 
Gathering on thy pale brow, high. 


Thou art all too young to languish, 
In the morn of rosy years, 

And I bring thee hope for anguish, 
Hope to waste thy urn of tears. 

" Bear on, sister, hush thy sighing, 

Bid the Past's dark dreams depart, 
Ere Eemembrance' voice undying, 

Wail its requiem o'er thy heart." 
Warm and deep my bosom blessed her, 

As she spake with soothing art, 
Smiling whiles I closer pressed her, 

Lest her whispers should depart. 

Now the night lamp's golden glimmer, 
Fell in flood light on the floor, 

As we knelt within its shimmer, 
Union-plighted evermore. 

And the Angel still is dwelling 
In my soul, with music rife, 

With her whisper ever telling, 
| Hope and Love, is all of Life. 


Inmi &ffntios. 

" Have you a pleasant home, my sister ? and do dear and loved ones crowd about 

your way, whispering tones of affection and lulling your spirit with music-strains ? 

Has life, to you, been an unbroken dream of bliss — and its flowers — have they been 

thornless and fadeless ? Or has the shadow of adversity hovered around your head, 

and the voice of sighing been yours ? 

"Lelia Mortimer." 

Yes, dearest, I've a "pleasant home,' - 

A home of light and love, 
Where dear ones " crowd about my way," 

Like angel forms above. 
A loving father's dear blue eye, 

Is ever like a gleam 
Of glorious summer sunshine flung 

Upon an azure stream. 

Long years have trembled all so light, 

Above his blessed head, 
And scattered only here and there, 

A tiny silver thread. 


I smooth the brown hair softly back, 

Upon his noble brow, 
And dream of long bright years to come, 

All joyous ev'n as now. 

I dare not think that time will steal 

The love-light from his eye, 
I cannot, cannot bear to think 

That one so dear can die ! 
I know 'tis vain, and yet — and yet — 

Ah yes ! this life would be, 
Without my father's blessed smile, 

A darksome dream to me ! 

And, dearest, I've a mother, too, 

With dark and glossy hair, 
• An eye of clearest hazel hue, 

And cheek and brow so fair ; 
And rosy lips that breathe of truth, 

And endless bliss above ; 
Ah ! yes it is an Eden, dear — 

A mother 's priceless love! 

And then a hrother^s gentle tone, 

Is like the melody 
That harp-strings give to softest touch. 

So gushing and so free. 
It seemeth but as yesterday, 

That we in childhood played 
Beneath the budding maple boughs 

That hung in purple shade 


Around that early home of mine, 

So beautiful and gay ; 
That home! it seems more lovely, now 

That we are far away ! 
I see the blossoms filled with dew, 

The birds that warbled there, 
The shining, creeping rills that made 

Such music with the air. 

I live again, in Memory, 

Those by-gone hours o'er — 
I scarce can think their starry hopes 

Will bless my heart no more ! 
Methinks I see the trusting smile, 

So sinless, soft and meek, 
That used to play in sunny love 

Upon my brother's cheek. 

But years, long years have bidden, now, 

Youth's softest joys depart, 
And manhood sits upon his brow, 

And boldness in his heart. 
I never knew a sister 's love, 

Ne'er drank her music tone ; 
Ne'er met her sunny love-lit eye, 

That looked into mine own. 

But I have thought, if earth could bear 

A joy like that above, 
'Twere found within a sister's arms, 

A sister's deathless love. 


All yes, I have a pleasant home, 

Where joys are full and free ; 
Yet life hath not "been all a dream 

Of bliss imbroke " to me ! 

No ! I have laid the youthful heart's 

First, fondest, sweetest bloom, 
In anguish-faded loveliness, 

On Sorrow's lonely tomb ! 
But few bright summers wove a wreath 

Of joys, about my way, 
Ere on the grave of mortal bliss, 

The blighted blossoms lay ! 

I knew the shadow on my brow, 

"Would mar Affection's rest, 
And calmly forced it from my cheek, 

To " darken in my breast!" 
Ah ! then I thought my breaking heart 

Would never smile again, 
But Time breathed balm within my breast, 

And soothed its maddening pain. 

Though few the years I've numbered o'er, 

Full many are the tears 
That glow upon that quivering leaf 

That shades departed years ! 
And few have gone since that first dream 

Went out in deepest night ; 
The shade is past! and life ne'er seemed 

So beautiful and bright. 


The varying tint is on my cheek, 

Where snows so cold have lain — 
'Twere worse than madness to repine, 

When " all the past is vain !" 
Affection's soft and fragrant dew, 

Is on my spirit shed, 
And earth is twining garlands fair, 

To hang above my head. 

Yet still, sometimes, around my heart. 

My chastened heart, there plays 
A mournful gleam, reflected from 

The light of other days ! 
But when I turn my weary eyes 

To these " loved ones at home," 
My saddened heart is hushed and calm. 

It cannot lonely roam. 

My father kind, my mother true, 

My brother — treasured Three — 
So long as wisdom granteth these, 

This heart is full and free ! 


#jfB d?ittljmfr 3Mnnm. 


The last sweet smile is beaming now, 
The cold death-dew is on his brow ! 
Like buds that fade in vernal breath. 
Lovely thy cherub sleeps in Death ! 
Bright-pinioned Angels whispering say— 
•'Young, sinless spirit, come away !" 

Oh ! softly smooth his curling hair. 

Upon his infant forehead fair ; 

Bring the blossom-wreath that bound him, 

Strew its stainless leaves around him ; 

Fold him in a last embrace, 

Hide for aye his sunny face ! 

Hush ! breathe not a single sia;h, 

To dim his pathway to the sky; 

Let not fall a shining tear, 

To star the wild-rose on his bier ; 

Lay him gently down to rest, 

In the green earth's peaceful breast ! 


That tiny heart shall wake no more, 
Its low, wild warbles all are o'er ! 
His merry shout, like harp-cords riven, 
Will float no more on wings of even ! 
His spirit, bright, so early flown, 
Folds its glad wings around God's throne ! 

Mother ! look up, behold him there — 
The same bright lip and golden hair, 
The fairy form and beaming eye, 
How lovely in the far, blue sky ! 
Oh ! peaceful is thy cherub's rest, 
Nestling within a Saviour's breast ! 

Father ! 'tis hard, in life's first bloom, 
To lay our loved ones in the tomb ; 
But thou canst yield with trusting joy, 
To Him who calls thy sinless boy, — 
Nature may bid the tear-drops start, 
But Faith will lift thy sinking heart. 

Parents bereaved ! life's little ray 
Is fading, fading fast away ! 
A few more years and he shall come 
To guide your ransomed spirits home ; 
Bear on ! beyond the kindly tomb, 
God will give back his gathered bloom ! 



litntlj $lt|itlntl}. 

I saw a snowy blossom 

Upon an emerald stem, 
Nursing upon its bosom 

A tiny dewy gem. 
The twilight of the morning, 

Shed freshness on its charms, 
And loving zephyrs rocked it 

Within their fragrant arms. 

The early morn had fleeted, 

And sunlight floated there, 
And kissed away the jewel 

Upon its forehead fair. 
The song of Spring-time wooed it 

To lift its spotless face, 
And blossom-spirits lured it 

From out its bursting case. 


A silver wreath of fragrance 

Fringed each young leaflet white, 
That lifted up its beauty 

To Summer's golden light. 
The gentle breezes kissed it, 

And chanted melody, 
Cradled on its dreaming heart — 

To youth and purity. 

The death-dirge tone of stormings, 

Swept wailing o'er its head, 
And waves of starless darkness, 

Boiled o'er its verdure-bed ! 
I sought the pearly blossom, 

Within its emerald fane, 
Where wind-harps late had welcomed 

The storm-king's haughty train. 

Beside its slender stamen 

Paled many a shattered bloom, 
Unbending pride had laid them 

Within a floral tomb ! 
Unbroken, lo ! it lingered, 

With light and shade o'ercast ; 
The lovely modest blossom 

Had bent before the blast! 

A golden cord of sunlight 

Looped back the drapery 
That fell in folds of sable, 

Round ether's azure sea. 


A herd of tiny breezes 
Crept in its snowy breast, 

And folding up their winglets, 
Laid down to balmy rest. 

The Angel of the Flowers 

Flew down and gathered up 
A ruby shell of waters, 

And filled its pearly cup. 
The grateful little Flora, 

Threw back its hood of gloom, 
And to the kindly angel 

Exhaled a soft perfume. 

* * * * * 

* * * * * 

* * * # * 

* * # * * 

Again I saw the blossom, 

And on its fairy face 
The hand of tinted Autumn 

Had left its finger- trace. 
Aroma filled its bosom, 

Its heart was wet with dew, 
But o'er its cheek pale Nature, 

A fading tissue threw. 

The low, hushed breath of evening 
Came quivering around, 

And all its lovely petals 

Lay trembling on the ground ! 


I gathered up its leaflets 

Of stainless purity, 
And still the perished blossom 

Lives on in Memory. 

Thy life be like this flower, 

Sweet bud of mortal bloom, 
That when Time's pulseless heart 

Shall wither in the tomb, 
The gathered gems of Virtue, 

From spotless Memory, 
May weave a living circlet 

Hound Immortality. 

Thy twilight shade is hasting 

To childhood's brighter ray ; 
Too soon Time's fluttering pmion 

Shall fan Youth's dew away. 
Full many a sweeping tempest 

Shall shade thy summer hours, 
For life's short way is bordered 

With sunlight and with showers. 

Sweet babe ! shall shadows ever 

Fall on that sunny face, 
Shall that pure heart, for sorrow, 

Be e'er a resting place? 
Oh ! shall the sullied signet 

Of tears, be e'er impressed, 
Bv Time's remorseless finsrer 

Upon that peaceful breast ? 

104 HEART -DEdPS. 

Aye ! life liatli never launched 

A heart on woless wave ; 
Hearts ne'er had been supernal 

Without a world to brave. 
Oh ! may the kindly angel 

That nursed the fragile flower, 
With beams of sacred lustre, 

Eelume thy darkest hour. 

And when Life's leaves shall wither 

On Dissolution's breast, 
May seraphs gently gather 

Thy spirit to its rest, 
Where sunlight ever lingers, 

And shadows never come — 
Where buds of Immortality 

Ne'er bend before a storm ! 


"^sntju far tljt| Jib." 

"When the banquet of Pleasure is sparkling before thee, 
And Joy's richest sunshine all golden gleams o'er thee, 
And the voice of the syren with music is rife, 
Yield not to the tempter — "Escape for thy life!" 
When Pleasure's gay "wreath 

Seems all dripping with gladness, 
Its dew-drops are dimpling 

The fountain of sadness ; 
Though varied tints blend on each bright blossom fair, 
Look down in its bosom — the serpent lurks there ! 

When Wisdom's soft whisper is wooing thee back, 
From the brink of destruction to Truth's peaceful track, 
And Deception's gay phantom is flitting around thee, 
Fly I ere its cold fetters in darkness have bound thee ! 
When liquid gold flashes 

In goblets of pleasure, 
And earth proffers, smiling, 

Her star-gleaming treasure, 
And beckons thee onward — "Remember Lot's wife," 
And " Look not behind thee — escape for thy life !" 


Seest thou, in the flush of the fragrant young morn, 
Whilst scattered beams cluster on rose-tree and thorn, 
White locks floating out on the whispering breeze, 
That showers the dew-mist from shadowing trees ? 

Behold as he hastes 

O'er the jewel-dropped plain, 

And the portal rolls back 
On the sorrowing train, 
How the warm heart is throbbing in memory's strife, 
As the warning comes thrilling, " Escape for thy life !" 

And see, as he roams 'neath the woodland's cool awning, 
How the storm-cloud is veiling the fair brow of morning ; 
Destruction broods over with terror-dipped minions, 
And shakes the death-dew from its fluttering pinions! 
'Tis the home of youth's bright years, 

His loved ones are there, 
And fancy wafts on 

A deep wail of despair ; 
And Affection breathes out, as he wanders secure, 
" How can I my people's destruction endure!" 

Hark ! hear ye the gush as it windeth along 

O'er the track of the doomed, with its murmuring song ? 

'Tis the waves of Oblivion rolling their foam 

O'er the ashes of grandeur — the wand'rer's loved home ! 

O'er the crumbles of beauty 
Death-dirges are sweeping ; 

And hoarse winds wild revels 
With sea-surfs are keeping ; 
And cold waves, loud mocking, unceasingly rave 
O'er the phantoms of Pleasure that lured to the grave ! 


ftjjjtspmng ipirits. 


Death lurks in every whispering breeze, 

In every floweret's eye, 
And bids us, with, its warning voice, 
" Prepare, the end is nigh." 
" God is not mocked " — Time is, but soon 
The ways ye oft have trod 
Shall know you not forevermore — 
" Prepare to meet thy God." 


Oh madness ! shall we purchase toys, 

When Sin's dark debt must be 
Cancelled in clouds of lurid flame, 

Through all eternity ! 
Oh ! shall we for the mercies of 

One slender moment wait, 
And on it hang the vast concerns 

Of an eternal state ! 

108 EEART MtOrS. 


Eternity ! eternity ! 

A sphere of heaving waves, 
Whose booming billows ceasless tossed, 

No shore or haven laves ! 
Eternity ! eternity ! 

Nor height, nor depth can bound ; 
Ee-echoing through unbounded space, 

Nor length, nor breadth is found ! 



To spirits tossed on burning waves, 

Engulphed in dark despair, 
How long must seem the night of years, 

Since first they entered there ! 
But oh ! what tempest-streams of wo 

Hush round them as they flee, 
And muttering thunder's dismal blast 

Peals out eternity I 

O'er foaming waves of quenchless flame, 

The groaning echoes bound, 
Till rock-cased wails, by fury scathed. 

Dash back the deep resound ! 
Then o'er the desert waste it looms, 

Caught up in fiendish glee ; 
On, on the mournful music rolls — 

Lost one — eternity ! 


And as the heaving surges lash 

Perdition's spectre-coast, 
A whisper breaks in madening strains, 

O'er misery's shrieking host. 
Down, down they rush, and round them wakes, 

In darker depths below — 
" In pain ye travelled all your days, 

To reap eternal wo !" 


" Sister, the sea is very dark, 

See how its billows roll ; 
Its hollow wails come faintly up, 

And freeze my tortured soul ! 
And clouds, black clouds are frowning o'er 

That Ocean of Despair ; 
All, all is dark, and chill, and drear, 

No star is beaming there ! 

" Sister, oh sister! keep me back! 

I cannot, cannot go, 
Without one little gleam of Hope, 

To light me safely through ! 
Sister, oh sister ! keep me back ! 

And let me breathe one prayer, 
For oh ! the sea is very dark, 

I cannot wander there ! 


" No star ! it's very, very dark !" 
Sighed faintly on the breath 
That bore his shrinking spirit o'er 
The turbid sea of death ! 
" It's very" — filled the last, last gale, 
That launched his feeble barque 
From Time's shore to Eternity — 
" It's very, very dark I" 


We live, and live for what ? 

And what is mortal life ? 
A scene of hopes and joys and fears, 

Of pain and grief and strife. 
Time's keenest pangs may yield to art, 

And even its deepest care, 
But oh ! in lost eternity, 

There's no physician there ! 

To die ! oh ! awful, crushing thought, 
Like fiery serpents' sting ! 

To struggle in the cold embrace 
Of Terror's giant King ! 

But oh ! to writhe and gasp in death, 
To stifle in its sea, 

"Were little wo to vilest hearts, 
But for eternity ! 



Eternity ! eternity ! 

From clime to clime it reels, 
From stars to suns and chiming spheres, 

Through endless space it peals. 
Ages on countless ages roll, 

As round its sphere we run, 
Then leave us at their lengthened lapse, 

But where we first begun ! 

ftmiU, ntjB ft milt 


Smile, aye smile o'er the sainted dead, 
Dew not with grief her downy bed ; 
Nay, softly drop no trembling tear, 
For th' loved one lost forever here ! 
Seest thou yon warmly glowing star, 
Soft trembling in its home afar ? 
Thy loved one shineth far more bright, 
Beyond its golden flood of light ! 


Yield calmly up thy heart's dear one, 
Nay, stay her not, her work is done ; 
Bright, waiting angels hover nigh, 
To wing exulting through the sky. 
A smile, a holy, quiet smile, 
Sits dimpling on her lip the while, 
It passes, and her spirit flies 
Triumphant through the starry skies ! 

Chide not, with tears that ceaseless fall, 
Thy great Eedeemer's righteous call ; 
She was a bud for earth too fair, 
He took her to his own parterre. 
Up through the violet sea of air, 
A bud just bursting, sweet and rare, 
Soft in their arms to endless rest, 
Young seraphs bore her from thy breast. 

Gently, oh ! gently bear they home, 
This blossom crushed b}^ vernal storm ; 
Lightly they lay her spirit down 
Upon our Father's starry Throne ! 
Soft the Elysian fields along, 
Is borne the shining host's glad song ; 
" Angelic spirit ever blest, 
Eest in thy Father's bosom, rest." 

TO ANNIE. 113 

Cn &oi*. 


Ah ! yes, I'll ever prize thy gift, 

Sweet friend of by-gone hours ; 
Love's smiles shall be their sunlight warmth, 

And friendship's tears their showers. 
I'll bathe them with the pearly drop 

That wells from memory's fount, 

Whene'er it doth past days recount, 
They'll whisper—" Hope." 

Thou saidst — " As years roll by they'll bloom 

As beautiful as now," 
That — " Time's cold hand can ne'er despoil 

Them of their pristine glow ;" 
" True emblem, Sarah, let them be, 

Of thy unchanging love, 

Though thou art called hence to rove 
On life's deep sea." 


Dear Annie, yes, while reason reigns 

On her exalted throne, 
And fancy wanders o'er the plains, 

By friendship sown, 
Thy " parting gift" I'll ne'er forget, 

Nor ev'n the gentle sigh 

That wafted back the sound — " good bye !" 
When last we met. 

And may I hope that friendship's chain 

Will ne'er be rent by thee ? 
That thou wilt ever true remain 

To dreams of love and me ? 
That like this gift thy heart will bloom 

Perennial, bright and gay, 

Till stilled thy throbbing pulse for aye, 
Within the tomb ? 


$|M IJjn&nm. 

The stars were all tracking the pavement of blue, 

To light up the tapers of Night, 
And I smiled as I gazed on the chalice of dew 

That flashed in their glimmering light ; 
But soft came a tapping at Memory's pane, 
A low muffled rapping, a dull heavy tapping, 

Tapping again and again ! 

I drew down the drapery to shut out the shade, 
And pressed down the bars of Disdain, 

But Thought the heart's citadel darkly betrayed, 
And a shadow crept into its fane ! 

And loud went the tapping and rapping again, 

A low mournful rapping, a sad sullen tapping, 
Mocking at Memory's pane ! 


The Shadow stole in with its noiseless tread, 

And beckoned my spirit away, 
But I threw on a mantle of lightness and fled 

To the gay halls of wild revelry ; 
But loud and more loud went the tapping again, 
A low muffled rapping, a dull heavy tapping, 

Tapping at Memory's pane ! 

The Shadow stole in with its lowering brow, 
And mocked at the smile on my own, 

And I shrank from the brilliance of festivals now, 
And stole from their dissonant tone ; 

For the Phantom kept tapping at Memory's pane, 

A low mournful rapping, a sad solemn tapping, 
Tapping again and again ! 

I threw back the lattice of mystical lore, 
And pored o'er its mines of delight, 

But the Shadow obtruded its shade evermore, 
And shrouded my spirit in night ; 

With its dull icy tapping at Memory's rmne, 

Its low muffled rapping, its sad sullen tapping, 
Eapping and tapping again ! 

I flew to the harp of Apollo and sang, 

I sang, but the Shadow was there, 
And wildly the waste with its sad wailings rang, 

And I threw down the harp in despair ! 
And I cried to the Phantom at Memory's pane — 
Oh ! when shall I be from thy grim spectrum free ? 

Whispered it — " never again !" 


I drew down the cowl of Seclusion and frowned 

At the mimicking minions of yore, 
But the Shadow grew darker and deepened around, 

And curtained my soul evermore ! 
And I sighed to the rapper at Memory's pane — 
Oh ! when from my heart will thy shadow depart ? 

Whispered it — " Never again !" 

Oh minion of wo ! will thy shadowy shroud 

Be lifted no more from my breast ? 
My lone, weary spirit thy sable wings cloud, 

Know nevermore, nevermore rest ? 
And the dark Shadow whispered through Memory's pane, 
With a low, mournful rapping, a sad, solemn tapping — 

" Never, no never again I" 

I lifted my brow in the mazy twilight, 

And dreamed of the darkness of yore, 
Of a tempest-tossed barque in a billowy night, 

That sank 'neath the waves evermore ! 
And I cried to the Shadow on Memory's pane — 
Shall the waves of that sea rest never, to me ? 

Whispered it — " Never again !" 

I caught up the links of a fillet of gold, 

Kollecl back by the mad, foaming wave, 
And hurled them all down in the wild waters cold, 

That swept them again from the grave ! 
And the dark Shadow whispered through Memory's pane, 
As I struggled in vain to entomb the crushed chain — 

" Never, no never again !" 


I know that the wings of my spirit will rise 
From the surf of that sea nevermore — 

That the darkly crushed links of the fillet that lies 
On the sands of that echoing shore, 

Will rattle forever at Memory's pane, 

And the low mournful rapping, the sad sullen tapping, 
Whisper me — " Never again !" 

I know that the whisper will never depart, 

The cloud from my sky never roll, 
For the dread Shadow lies o'er my desolate heart, 

And haunteth forever my soul ; 
And its wan, icy finger at Memory's pane, 
Will hush its low rapping, its eternal tapping, 

Never, no never again ! 


€\)t Inn? nf t If b 33mt. 

" If the love of the heart is blighted it buddeth not again ; if that pleasant 6ong ia 
forgotten, it is to be learnt no more." — Tupfee. 

To dream that the world 

"Would grow dreary and lone 
Without the sweet music 

Of one gentle tone — 
That life were all sadness — - 

A tear and a sigh — 
Without the soft love-light 

Of one gentle eye ; 
To brave with that dear one, 

Earth's mockings unmoved, 
If this be not loving, 

Thou hast not been loved. 


To think of the past 

As a roseate gleam 
Thrown over the waves 

Of a dimpling stream, 
Now starry and bright, 

Now faded and gone, 
Anon faintly glowing 

Like breaking of dawn. 
To dream the free heart 

In life had ne'er known 
To thrill to the whispers 

Of one music tone, 
Or weep in despair, 

Over faithlessness' blot— 
If this be forgetting, 

Thou hast been forgot. 

The love of the heart ! 

Let it wither away, 
Let it droop on the bosom 

Of silent decay — 
Let its delicate vine 

From the oak be unwound, 
By Falsehood's dark finger, 

To trail o'er the ground, 
To that it once clung, 

From the shadowy plain, 
Its tendrils can never 

Be lifted as;ain. 


The love of the heart ! 

'Tis a fathomless sea ; 
Wind-spirits may ruffle 

Its surface in glee, 
Uplifting its wavelets 

And ranting at will, 
While flows its deep bosom 

All silent and still. 
But let the storm-monarch 

Its billows roll back, 
And wind through the snow-surf 

Its chariot track. 

Let lurid wings wave 

O'er its wild heaving crest, 
Till stirred the low depths 

Of its maddening breast — 
The storm-god may wheel 

In his thundering car, 
And chain the wild winds 

In his castle afar, 
But the billows will break 

On that sea's sounding shore 
Long after the wind-spirit's 

Wailing is o'er ! 

Yet cometh an hour 

When Quiet will reign, 
And Peace fold her wino-s 


In its bosom again ; 


And naught tell the eye 
Of the lovely that died — 

That sank evermore 

'Neath the boisterous tide. 



As I lay in slumber sleeping, 

Whilst the brush of night was sweeping- 
Tears of dew 
From the blue 

Eye of love, high above, 

A dream, with light and stealthy tread, 

Crept around my slumber bed, 
And wove a thread 

Of vision round my tranced head, 


And thought's wand touched my dormant brain, 

And busy fancy lived again, 

And fleet unfurled her noiseless wing, 

And swept along the magic string 

That marked its flight, 

Through the night, 
To a high and broad domain, 

Clad in light, 

Glistering bright, 
Thought, as still, or Somnus' reign. 

Lay my sense in toneless wonder, 
Ere a swell, as rushing thunder, 

Smote my ear, 

And from far, 
Rose, in dim and dusky herds, 
Armies fleet of black-winged birds ; 

On they fluttered, 

Loud they muttered, 
Till they fell, strange to tell, 

At my feet, 

Armies fleet ! 
Wondering, fain I would have grasped them, 
But a breeze in mock'ry clasped them, 
Bore them on its sturdy wing, 
Like a lightsome, idle thing, 
And I watched, with eager eye, 
Upward marching through the sky, 

Gregatim herds 

Of black-winged birds, 

124 H E A K T - I) It O P S . 

Fluttering, fluttering, 

Like a deep-toned echo muttering, 
Now they quickly down descended. 
In a mass of blackness blended, 

And again at my feet, 

Down they fell, armies fleet! 
Durst I not to seek to clasp them, 
Lest the jealous winds should grasp them, 
Till a flutter, flutter, flutter, 
And a mutter, mutter, mutter, 
Smote upon my eager ear, 

Persevere ! persevere ! 
Nimbly, then, I dropped again, 
On the green and swelling plain ; 
And I seized the sable treasure, 
Gladdened beyond thought or measure, 
But a blast came rushing on, 
And my prize was gone, gone ! 

And I sighed, 
But the cruel winds defied 

All my aims, 
And denied all my claims ; 
But I held a glossy feather, 
In my fingers clasped together ; 

It I turned, 

And I learned, 
To accomplish a desire, 
Persevere, and never tire ; 
Though the winds of fortune rise, 
And bear off a winged prize, 


Fortune cannot always frown, 
Perseverance wears the crown ; 
To the swift nor palms belong, 
Nor the battle to the strong ; 
Perseverance wins the day, 
Laggard will, away, away ! 

And a sigh 

Bustled by, 
Leaving in my ringing ear — 

Persevere I persevere / 

Then I bounded, like a fawn, 

O'er the lawn ; 
And the jealous breeze was singing, 
And the sable pinions winging ; 
Now they rose higher, higher, 
Now they came nigher, nigher, 

Like a cloud 

Rolling out its sable shroud, 

Wrapping light 

Up in night ; 
Now the tired wind was hushing, 
And the black-winged army rushing 
Down, down to the ground. 
Soon they fell, 
Like a knell 
From a bass-tongued iron bell ! 

Gladdened now beyond all measure, 
Once again I grasped the treasure, 


Perseverance won the day, 
And I bore the prize away, 
Ere the Dream, with sybil hand, 
Soft unwound the fairy band 

From my head, 
And I woke ; but the clock 
Told the hour of her power 

Now had fled ; 
But I heard the syren say, 
As she softly tripped away — 
"To accomplish a desire, 
Persevere and never tire ; 
Droppings wear the rock away, 
Perseverance wins the day ; 
Never faint, never fear, 
Persevere ! Persevere /" 


Imi-Dnattrittgs r 


I wondee if his spirit-eyes 

Are bending from the azure skies, 

Upon me now ; 
Methinks I see a holy light, 
Breaking in shining wavelets, bright, 

Around his brow. 

Do ransomed spirits ever come, 
And watch with us, around the tomb 

Of dust, their own ? 
Perhaps ev'n now his holy breath 
Wavers around this vault of death — 

So hushed and lone ! 


Father ! oh dost thou hover nigh, 
And doth that loving, seraph eye, 

Look in mine own ? 
That azure eye, long shut in death, 
Ere life had taught my infant breath 

A wailing tone ! 

I hear a soft breeze floating by, 
Pensive and low as Autumn's sigh, 

Or ocean's moan ; 
And there's a stillness on the air, 
That seems the heart-hush of despair- 

I am alone ! 

Alone ! can solitude e'er bind 
In loneliness, supernal mind? 

Comes not a tone 
Upbreaking from the frailest flower. 
Upborne along the dimmest hour? 

Tm never lone. 

Yet I could weep, for there's no eye 
To meet my own in sympathy ; 

No breath of love 
To soothe my weary thoughts to rest, 
And woo back to this yearning breast, 

Its wandering dove. 


Father ! oh art thou hovering near, 
And doth thy vigil spirit hear 

This heart's sad sigh? 
Or dost thou look upon me now, 
With smiling lip and beaming brow, 

From yonder sky ? 

And hast thou known the way of her 
Who comes from far to linger here, 

Within this gloom ? 
Thou art at rest, while others weep, 
And some could almost wish to sleep 

Within the tomb ! 

Spirit, safe sheltered from life's storm, 
Who watchest o'er this fading form, 

When blossoms wave, 
And moaning winds shall sweep along, 
Teaching the soul their requiem song, 

Above her grave, 

Who asks no " storied urn" to crest 
The spot where sleeps this buried breast ; 

From Heaven's plain, 
May she but claim the strangers tear, 
To tell — " The heart that slumbers here 

Lived not in vain." 


ffli ntt intt €mn. 

We are but two — in infant years 

We shared each other's gladness ; 
Hand clasped in hand, each other's tears 

Together wept in sadness. 
Ah ! well I mind me how the mist 

Would fill thy little eye, 
If my young heart with grief oppressed, 

Should breathe a passing sigh. 

And thy meek face, like a fair flower, 

Would nestle on my breast, 
So like, in its bright, soothing power, 

A star in night's dark vest. 
And like that orb, whose silver beams 

Bid sombre shades depart, 
So thy sweet lisps, like sunshine gleams, 

Would steal o'er my sad heart. 

Ah ! those were happy, happy days, 
That glow through distant years ; 

Bright, lovely hours, whose golden rays 
Wake Memory's fount of tears. 


Softly they float, like evening light, 

Up through the glimmering past ; 
Our starry infant days ! too bright, 

And lovely, far, to last ! 

They come to me, like distant song, 

Or Autumn's pensive sigh ; 
Sweet scenes — loved ones — a blessed throng — 

But ah ! they're all gone by ! 
Gone by ! all gone ! the friends, the days. 

The scenes where we have trod; 
Some linger in our early ways, 

And some have gone to God ! 

And here in this far-distant home, 

We catch the spirit-strain 
Of all the past, but ah ! the tomb 

But gives it back again ! 
Oh grave ! here is thy victory — 

And here, oh Death ! thy sting : 
This bears our dearest hopes away, 

That shrouds them 'neath its wing ! 

Ah ! many are the blooming joys, 

That faded, years agone ; 
Time ! Time ! thy icy hand destroys 

Earth's fairest hopes that dawn ! 
How like a wreath of starry gems, 

Far, far in Memory's waste, 
Smile up those years in trembling streams, 

From out the shadowed past. 


The once glad hearth of childhood's home- 

The tiny babbling stream — 
The heather we were wont to roam, 

Flash back a lingering gleam. 
The clustering vines, whose purple shades 

Were once our summer -friend ; 
The deep old woods — the cool dark glades, 

Like jewel-tints they blend. 

And by this flood of circling light, 

Thy tiny form I see, 
Bowed in a calm and dewy night, 

Beside our mother's knee. 
And thy young voice floats gently by, 

Upon the quiet air, 
While smiling Angels hover nigh, 

To catch thy infant prayer. 

Ah ! blessed, thrice, our earliest years, 

Of innocence and love, 
With friends who kissed away our tears, 

And pointed us above. 
Who taught us earth was but a scene, 

Whose "fashions pass away;" 
And bade us joys unsullied glean, 

From realms of cloudless day. 

And now that long, long years have fled, 
Since first we roamed together, 

With gladsome hearts and lightsome tread, 
The green and flowery heather ; 


Far through the mazy vista dim, 

We cast a thankful eye, 
That we were taught to trust in Him 

Who ruleth Earth and Sky. 

For though the grave has shadowed o'er, 

Dear ones who loved us then, 
He will unfold Death's iron door, 

And give them back again 

We are but two — till Time destroys, 
We'll tread life's way together; 

I'll share thy cares, and thou my joys, 
My own my only brother. 

We are but two — then let us cling 

Together as of yore, 
Till seraph messengers shall wing 

Our severed spirits o'er 
Old Jordan's tide — yet may it be 

The will of him who gave, 
That our immortal spirits may 

Together cross its wave. 

And then in life's eternal day, 

Where " saints immortal reign," 
Entwine forever and for aye, 

To part no more again. 
For if in Heaven one shade of care 

Could enter that bright plain, 
If I should rise, wert thou not there, 

I ne'er should smile again ! 


I think of thee ever, but not as of yore, 
Alas! sweet remembrance with me now is o'er ; 
I think of thee sadly, with sighs and with tears , 
As I mentally trace the dim vista of years, 
And wait for thy low, welcome step as before ; 
I list but in vain, for — thou comest no more ! 

'Tis a dream of the past when thy form doth arise, 
In its proud, early beauty, before my dim eyes ; 
And 'tis but a dream when thy soft voice I hear, 
Distilling its sweetness upon my lone ear ; 
Ah yes ! 'tis a dream that my vision floats o'er, 
When I meet thee, lost one, for — thou comest no more ! 

'Tis a dream of the past — oh ! let it remain, 

And speak to my heart of thy love once again ; 

Let it seal up the fount of reality drear, 

And bear back thy spirit to meet with me here ; 

Let us wander 'mong haunts side by side, as of yore, 

Once cheerful, now lone, since — thou comest no more ! 

"passing away." 135 

No more ! aye 'tis past ! the sweet vision has fled ! 
Low, low lies thy form with the slumbering dead ! 
Still, on thy young bosom the withered wreath lies, 
And rayless the depths of those once beaming eyes ! 
Cold, cold is the sod that now covers thee o'er, 
Despairing this heart since — thou comest no more ! 

"fussing %maq." 

When the first bud of Spring bursts its emerald case, 
And smiles through its blushes on Nature's glad lace, 
As round its soft petals the sylvan elfs play, 
Who thinks 'mid earth's brightness of "passing away?" 

When the flood-light of Summer floats golden on high, 
And earth sports her mantle of richest rose-dye, 
Mid fragrance and verdure untouched by decay, 
Twere mock'ry to sing us of "passing away." 


But when the sweet season of zephyrs and dyes, 
Drops its crimson-fringed drapery o'er Nature's meek eyes, 
And flowerets are bending in Autumn's pale ray, 
Each whispering leaf sings us " We're passing away !" 

We love the sweet Spring with its sunlight and showers, 
And Summer's wild warblers and vine-trellised bowers; 
But would ye the heart's richest gladness should linger, 
Bid Nature's harp-strings answer Autumn's pale finger. 

I've thought, when the leaflet of crimson and gold, 
Its withering sadness in autumn winds, told, 
That the theme of pale Nature's sad melody-lay, 
On zephyr-wings wafted, was — "passing away." 

And I think as I watch the wild wood-blossom, meek, 
With the Autumn's hue painting its sweet waxen cheek, 
That its soft murmur sings to each print of Decay — 
" We are passing away — we are passing away!" 

Go forth in the season when tinted leaves fade, 
With th.3 blooms that unfolded in midsummer's shade; 
See th.3 falling leaf gleaming in Autumn's sun-ray — 
'Tis Mortality's symbol of "passing away." 

Life hath but one lesson of import to learn. 

Go read it imprinted on Autumn's pale urn ; 

For Spring-time and Summer, for gladness ne'er say, 

While blooming in beauty, " We're passing away!" 


Cjii $rih. 

She stood beside the altar 

With pallid cheek and brow, 
And eye of humid lustre, 

That mocked the nuptial vow. 
A form of stately bearing, 

Stood proudly by her side, 
And placed the glittering emblem 

Upon his youthful bride. 

Why turns she thus so coldly, 

From words that greet her ear — 
Words that bespeak his fondness 

For one so fair and dear? 
Why gleams her eye so wildly, 

Upon her guardian pale ? 
Alas ! that cruel guardian 

Could tell a heartless tale ! 


And well might he shrink trembling 

Before that flashing eye, 
Whose piercing glance sent to his cheek 

The guilty, crimson dye ! 
To soulless, cold ambition, 

He sacrificed his truth, 
And robbed her guileless bosom 

Of all that gladdens youth ! 

Poor, lonely, helpless Orphan ! 

No friend, to save, is near ! 
To snatch thee from destruction, 

Or heed thy falling tear ! 
But see — another enters 

That gay and festive throng, 
Who treads, with noble bearing, 

The crowded aisle, along. 

Over that glittering crowd 

He casts his restless eye, 
In quest of some loved object, 

In years, long years gone by. 
Alas ! unhappy Rupert, 

Naught now the chain can sever, 
That binds the one thou seekest — 

She's lost to thee forever ! 

The glow that lit his features, 
When first he entered there, 

Fled fleet as summer sunbeams — 
Obscured by dark despair ! 


Oh ! deep the sighs of anguish, 

That swell his heaving breast, 
While on her drooping figure, 

His burning glances rest ! 
" Just Heaven !" — he cries — " thy judgments 

Are righteous though severe ! — 
Sustain me in this hour, 

And stay the bitter tear ! " 

"Peace!" cried a gentle voice, 
" Thy grief is naught to mine ; 
No hope relieves my bosom, 

But Eva still is thine." 
Quickly he turned to see 

Who thus such words addressed ; 
A muffled form stood near him, 
With wildly quivering breast ! 

" Poor creature ! why this sorrow, 

That doth thy cheeks o'erflow?" 
" One moment — there! 'tis over — 
Thou soon the tale shalt know !" 
'Tis done — the vow is spoken — 
She turns with haughty pride, 
To meet the salutations 
That greet so fair a bride. 

But hark that shriek ! she totters — 

He springs in wild alarm, 
And eagerly his bosom 

Eeceives her fainting form ! 


" Presumptuous youth, be gone !" 
The bridegroom madly cried — 

" Eesign thy charge, nor dare, 
Again to clasp my bride !" 

"Not so! false man, not so!" — 
A mournful voice replied — 
" Thy boasts are vain, for Eva 

Is not thy lawful bride !" 
Like Heaven's thunderbolt, that voice 

Fell on his startled ear. 
And filled his guilty soul 
With deep, tormenting fear. 

" Look on me, cruel man, 

Dost know this altered brow ? 
Methinks thy youthful passion, 

Must wake thy memory now. 
False, cruel, perjured one ! 

Go ! save thy worthless life, 
Nor dare to claim yon maiden — 

Thou knowest /am thy wife !" 

" With scorn I own the title, 
And brave thy deadly hate, 
To save yon hapless maiden 

From misery's keenest state. 
Long hast thou thought me slumbering 

Beneath the boisterous wave. 
Sent by thy blood-stained hand, 
To meet a watery grave I" 


" But Heaven prolonged my days, 

To thwart thee, in this hour — 
To rescue yon fair victim 

From thy demoniac power !" 
Quick, ere her accents died, 

He fled the portal door, 
And Juan F. De Bertrand 

Was never heard of more ! 



* * * * * * * 

Again the lovely Eva, 

With Rupert by her side, 
Turned from the holy altar, 

A smiling, happy — bride ! 


^tniiigljt Dnnnttitga. 

Earth, in its emerald mantle, 

Lies slumbering profound, 
And whispering winds are wafting 

Its perfumed breath around, — 
And softly bright, above it, 

Smiles the clear, starry sky, 
"Watching its peaceful slumber, 

With its blue watery eye. 

The cool, round dew is sparkling 

In young Night's silver ray, 
But hence my heart is wandering, 

To scenes far, far away ! 
Earth's wreath-crowned brow is flashing 

In heaven's calm starlight, 
But ah ! dim visions hover 

About mv heart to-niirht ! 


I'm lingering in the sunlight 

Of dear, departed years ; 
I've hushed my heart's glad music, 

'Mid Memory's gushing tears! 
I've listed to the whispers 

That steal upon my ear, 
Till swift-winged Fancy bore thee, 

Through creeping twilight, here. 

I've looked into the depths, love, 

Of thy dark soul-lit eye, 
And felt thy warm breath trembling 

Up to the starry sky ; 
And heard thy young heart's music, 

In rosy Love's sweet strain, 
Float through the dewy twilight — 
" Ah we have met again !" 

But ah ! too soon the vision, 

In ether's blue has flown, 
And rainbow tints have faded 

From dreamland's starry throne, — 
But soft-eyed Hope is soothing 

My saddened bosom's fane, 
And whispers to my spirit — 

We yet may meet again. 


I D {I I . 

Hope ! sweetest messenger of Heaven, 

To animate our drooping soul, 
Blest boon to rebel nature given, 

To soothe, sustain, and make us whole ! 

How dark would be the brightest sky, 
That ever smiled o'er this low world , 

How pale the rose-bud's richest dye, 
If Hope was from our bosoms hurled. 

"Without its warm, benignant beams, 
To raise our dark despairing hearts, 

How soon would Life's bright, purling streams 
Congeal before Death's icy darts ! 

TO MARY. 145 

& n % e r if . 


I'll prize it for thy sake, Mary, 

This " Friendship's Gift " of thine ; 
Each thought upon its pages traced, 

Proclaims thy mind divine. 
It needs not words to speak, Mary, 

Affection's gentle swell ; 
If in a heart it trembleth warm, 

The speaking eyes will tell. 

xVnd those dark orbs of thine, Mary. 

Reveal each thought unspoken. 
That here thy gentle hand hath traced, 

Upon this cherished " Token." 
Though words be soft and low, Mary, 

Give me the melting eye, 
That sheds warm dew upon the heart, 

And bids restriction fly. 


Words oft are falsehood's guise, Mary, 

To tempt the sanguine heart ; 
But thoughts that dwell in eyes, are of 

The soul, a counterpart, 
I ask not words to judge, Mary, 

If e'er a heart be true ; 
For Heaven's noblest gifts are set 

And sealed upon the brow. 

They say we ne'er can tell, Mary, 

By scanning o'er the face, 
The value of the gem that doth 

The bosom's casket grace. 
External show, though fair, Mary, 

Too oft the mind deceives ; 
Ofttimes the least intrinsic worth 

Is hidden by fine leaves ! 

'Tis true the lip may breathe, Mary, 

Words darkty false, though fair, 
But if Ave scrutinize the mien, 

Deceit is written there ! 
Though sophistry beguile, Mary, 

Innumerable fond hearts, 
Credulity will ere long sink 

'Fore Disappointment's darts. 

Words may be likened to, Mary, 
A rose, sweet-blooming, rare, 

It charms the eye, and yet we know 
The thorn is lurking; there ! 

TO MARY. 147 

'Tis pleasant to the sense, Mary, 

Beneath sweet Summer's rays, 
But ah ! the tree in Autumn winds, 

Its hideousness displays, 

Even so's a treacherous heart, Mary, 

When robed in Love's array; 
As Time's progressive wheels revolve, 

Its short-lived charms decay ! 
But thoughts that dwell in eyes, Mary, 

Are like sweet violets; 
Though "born to blush unseen," no heart, 

Their modest worth forgets. 

And looks are emblems of, Mary, 

The lity, newly born ; 
Although it bows its spotless head, 

It hides no piercing thorn. 
It wears no gaudy tints, Mary, 

To win the world's bold stare ; 
Ah no, it even shrinks beneath 

The noontide's fitful glare. 

I love the lily for, Mary, 

Its spotless purity ; 
The rose that rears its glowing head, 

Is lightly prized by me. 
Dear as the meek and pure, Mary, 

Is this true friendship's token, 
Wherein are traced endearing thoughts, 

Thy lips have never spoken. 


And when from thee I go, Mary, 

In distant lands to dwell, 
Of one pure heart "refined from dross,'' 

This little gem will tell. 
Where'er on earth I rove, Mary, 

This talisman will be 
The brightest link in friendship's chain, 

That binds my heart to thee. 

X i ii 1 3 t a n % i n i a t n r t . 

The joyous sun of rosy youth 

Is gleaming o'er thee, 
Starring the flowery path of truth, 

That glows before thee. 
Hope, with her gay and glittering wings, 

Thy heart is shading, 
And purity's glad music, rings 

Of bliss unfading. 


Ah ! little wist ye, smiling boy, 

Of sadness veiling, 
Now in the bud of opening joy, 

Life's balm inhaling. 
And when the years that steal apace, 

Have changed this brow, 
May not its impress on the face, 

Thy bosom know ! 

A\ T hen time incases this fair form, 

In manly art, 
May childhood's circlet shed its charm 

Around thy heart. 
Though bright thy future pathway seemeth, 

In young life's ray, 
Maturity with darkness teemeth ! 

A thorny way ! 

Ere yet few years shall tremble o'er 

Thy peaceful head, 
Thy heart may list afflictions, sore, 

And sorrow's tread ! 
But rest, thou, ever in the power, 

That Hope hath given ; 
That ills that crowd Life's narrow hour, 

May end in lleaven. 


%nl <K |j r n ? 


I will win ! — cried the youth, and his brilliant eye gleamed, 

As victory sparkled before him ; 
I will win ! — and his bosom with bright fancies teemed, 

As Fame's gilded plumage waved o'er him. 

And then ? — came a whisper, low thrilling along, 
When thy name shall wake mountain and glen, 

When Fame's golden trump swells its magical song, 
To Earth's gayest laurels, and then? 

And then — said the youth, with a bright, curling lip, 

And a wreath of sunlight on his brow — 
At the deep crystal fountain of Wealth I shall sip, 

And bathe in its sparkling flow J 

AND THEN? 151 

And then ? — said the Pilgrim — and then cried the youth, 

I will wed one as wise as Zobeide, 
An Hourie for beauty, unrivaled in truth, 

And Love, lavish nature's last meed. 

And then ? — spake the querist — and then — he replied — 

I shall dwell amid sunlight and flowers ; 
Reposing in gladness, on Wealth's lulling tide, 

'Mid Love's balmy, rosy-wreathed bowers. 

And then? — aye, and then — he returned with a smile — 

These dark curls shall silver with age ; 
And Honor's rich harp-cords shall sweetly beguile 

The heart of the hero and sage. 

And then t — came the whisper, low borne to his ear — 

Ah ! then— he exclaimed with a sigh — 
When Time's darksome winter, Life's freshness shall sear, 

Ah then — aye — ah then I shall die ! 

And then ? — said the whisper — he started aghast, 

And pale Thought looked down in his eye ; 
But the echo rolled on, though the Pilgrim had passed — 

And then — and what then, when you die? 


tfjri &\tll (fiffs. 

Three Fairies loved a blooming boy, 

And warml}*- souglit to bring 
The richest gifts that heart can wear, 

As Love's pure offering. 
One wove a bud of radiant Hope, 

Amid his golden hair, 
Another laid Faith's glowing bloom. 

Upon his bosom fair 

" Behold " — cried she who lastly came — 
" My offering shall be 
A pale bud dipped in fragrant dew — 

A white rose. Charily" 
The bright-browed boy went smiling ! 

To tread Life's devious way, 
As warmly pressing his pure brow, 
These clustering blossoms lay. 


Hope starred the deepest veil that wreathed, 

His throbbing heart around ; 
Faith's silver beams of circling light, 

Glanced up when sorrow frowned. 
But Charity's soft, soothing balm, 

Perfumed Life's mazy hill ; 
Though fetid breaths went flitting by, 

Its odor lingered still. 

Time fleeted by. The boy emerged 

To manhood's glowing prime ; 
The fairies' Gifts still wreathed his brow, 

As in youth's sunny time. 
As down a lane of humble life, 

His footsteps kindly strayed, 
Love lingered by a drooping form, 

In sorrow's darkest shade. 

Faith sickened o'er the soulless eye, 

And doubtful form of grief, 
The darkling mist enfolded Hope, 

And paled its brightest leaf. 
But Charity's soft, soothing balm, 

Poured out its healing art, 
And bathed, with its refreshing dew, 

The mourner's fainting heart. 

Then, through the mist a whisper came, 

In song that lingered ever, 
; Though Faith be faint, and trembling, Hope, 
Yet ' Charity faileth, never.' " 


The mourner left his dreary home, 
And wandered bold and free, 

Along the dancing stream of Time, 
Made glad by Charhvy. 

The gentle youth, with manly brow, 

Walked calmly by his side, 
And pointed with his radiant Gifts, 

Across the flowing tide. 
Yet to his ear a zephyr stole, 

Of Falsehood's deepest dye ; 
Hope spurned at Earth, and planted firm. 

Her standard in the sky. 

And round its bright and golden stem. 

Faith's tender arms entwined, 
And upward climbed to peaceful realm.-. 

A tranquil rest to find. 
But, nestling at its lowly base, 

Warm Charity essayed 
To bring rich blessings from its height. 

To scatter through the shade. 

And o'er the heart, that mocked her there, 

Because of rankling Pride, 
She kindly spread a snowy veil. 

Each crimson stain to hide, 
And though the weight of sordid hands, 

Pressed on her humble heart, 
She meekly bore each wrathful smite. 

And met the envenomed dart. 


For " Charity suffereth long — 

Is kind — e'er hopeth for the best — 
Seeks not her own " — but pours her wealth 

Into an aching breast. 
But trembling on the verge of life, 

The once fair boy now lay, 
Bending beneath the weight of years, 

That time had borne away. 

The angel Death his spirit claimed — 

Through rich redemption given — 
By faith he climbed Hope's standard firm, 
"And scaled the mount of Heaven." 
Faith passed with him the golden gate, 

Hope withered o'er his tomb, 
But Charity lent his memory, 

A long and rich perfume. 

And now abideth Faith and Hope, 

And Charity — these Three ;" 
But the greatest of the Fairies' Gifts, 

Was lasting Charity. 

156 heart-drops. 


Oe! tell me not of festal hall, 

Nor banquet glittering bright ; 
Of Pleasure's gay and giddy throng, 

And Fashion's scenes of light. 
Oh ! tell me not of revelry, 

Where song and laughter flow, 
Where hearts beat high with joyousness, 

And Love's first blossoms blow. 

I would not give one quiet hour, 

Within the forest's shade, 
For all the pomp of Wealth's vain show, 

And fashion's gay parade. 
I'd not forego a pensive stroll, 

By yon pale moon's meek ray, 
For all the glare of carnivals, 

Beneath a monarch's sway. 


One peaceful hour at evening's calm, 

'Neath twilight's furling veil, 
Where rosy buds and pearly dew 

Are gemming hill and dale, 
Is lovelier far than jewel- wreaths, 

Amid convivial light, 
Where ruby lips and liquid eyes 

Are glowing warm and bright. 

Aye, let me watch yon silver orb, 

That palely floats on high, 
Along the broad, blue meteor-track 

That spans the azure sky ; 
And catch the low JEolian tones, 

Of Nature's balmy sigh, 
That trembles o'er the wavy heath, 

And shuts the floweret's eye. 

There's gladness in each whispering breath 

Of Nature's gentle tone, 
But songs that float through festal halls, 

Seem sighing — u all alone!" 
Let other hearts delight to thread 

The merry, heartless throng, 
And thrill with joyous ecstacy, 

To light and gladsome song. 

But give to me, the spangled Heavens — 

The green and flowery sod, 
Where solitude blest converse holds, 

With Nature and its God ! 


€n it ifrirnlL 

: Plain dealing is a jewel, but those that wear it are out of fashion." 

"moral lacon." 

I do not love thee less, because 

Thou thinlcest not, with me ; 
Opinion ne'er can drain the tide 

That floods my heart for thee, 
I do not love thee less, because 

They tell me thou hast erred ; 
'Tis hard an image to efface, 

Once to this heart endeared. 

Opinion, what ? should " trifles light 

As air," break friendship dear ? — 
Should little faults unlink Love's chain ? — 

Mortality will err ! 
I love thee still, although the sun 

Of unity has set ; 
Though discord thrills affection's strings, 

I love thee truly yet. 

LIN KS. 159 

If ever from my youthful heart, 
A wish, from earth-taint free, 

Breathed up from its most sacred fane, 
It is for thine and thee. 

I love thee dearly yet, although 
Apart from thee I stand, 

Beneath the floating flag that bears, 
■ My own, my native land!" 

1 tins. 


They came, a little Sister-band. 

In innocence arrayed ; 
No mother, fond, with gentle hand, 

Their tottering footsteps stayed. 
Around them smiled the young and gay, 

Upon whose joy- wreathed brow 
Was impressed friendship's answering ray, 

And blooming Hope's rich glow. 


The radiant girl with beaming eye, 

In smiles parental basked ; 
Dropped she a tear, or breathed a sigh, 

As on the friendless passed ? 
The mother fond, with heart e'er true, 

Joyed in her child's fair ray ; 
Thought she no mother e'er would strew, 

Sweet roses in their way? 

Thought she, that poor and helpless band 

Once knew a mother's love — 
A father's care — till Angels' hand 

Soft beckoned them above ? 
Cared she, that whilst her darling one 

Was sheltered from life's storm, 
O'er their defenceless head, that none 

Stretched the protecting arm ? 

'Twere vain to dream, one trembling tear 

Flowed for their hapless lot ; 
Ah no ! none felt the friendless dear, 

Thejr passed and were forget ! 
" If but in this world they have hope," 

Poor creatures all unblest ! 
For Earth's cold bosom yields no drop 

To soothe a sorrowing breast ! 

Thou hast no friend, poor ones, thought I, 

To smooth Life's chequered way ; 
A voice replied — the spirits cry — 
" These are more blest than tl>. 

LINES. 161 

" God chasteneth whom he loveth well — 
Who in His words abide ; 
All who would in His favor dwell, 
Must stem affliction's tide." 

" They have their ' good things here below " 

Earth is their Deity ; 
But these through sorrow's flood may go, 

To grasp Eternity !" 
I looked again — that Sister-band 

Sat next the earthly Throne 
Of Him whose kind, protecting hand, 

Ne'er leaves the helpless lone. 

And then I heard—" The Car of Death 

Low rumbleth to the Tomb ; 
Soon shall this evanescent breath 

Be hushed amid its gloom." 
Methought I saw them one by one, 

Yield to its cold embrace ; 
The, Angel told his bidding done, 

And kissed the calm, white face. 

And then I sought to know if they 
" Had only hope on earth," 
I heard a voice triumphant say — 

" These were of hoty birth ! " 
'Twas then I saw a vision land, 
Where they had early flown ; 
I looked, and lo ! the Orphan-band 
Sat next a star-bright throne ! 


But wherefore shine they far more bright 

Than those who cluster near? 
The Word thus spake — "Refining^ night 

In Earth, wins lustre here. 11 
" But if on earth ye only hope," 

Poor mortals all unblest ! 
For earth's cold bosom yields no drop 

To soothe a sorrowing breast!" 

vr 7T tV 7T W "H" 

* * * * * * 


***** * 

Earth ! 'tis a broken reed at best, 

But oftener, far, a dart ; 
If on it thou dost lean for rest, 

'Twill pierce thee to the heart ! 

MEMORY. 163 

I stood ia the midst of a gay throng, in the city of C forgetful of the past and 

thoughtless of the future. A deep, manly, but stranger voice murmured in my ear — 
" Lady, remember 'Memory'" — and dreamily I " pondered it in my heart." 

I met thee. 'Twas amidst the fair, 

The joyous and the free ; 
All thought, in sorrow's lone parterre, 

Had sunk in Lethe's sea. 
But ah ! thy lips bade gladness flee, 
Before the frosts of " Memory." 

"Why askedst thou me to let Memory live, 

When naught but Oblivion can happiness give ? 

Should we nourish a flame that would quickly consume, 

The tendrils of life in their earliest bloom ? 

Should we brood o'er the scenes that are fraught but with care, 

And trouble the fountain of silent Despair ? 

You know not the sadness that Memory brings ; 

Oh ! touch not its secret, its deep-hidden springs ! 


Breathe not again that mournful word, 

Forgotten let it be, 
For hearts, though seeming light, if stirred 

By wakeful Memory, 
Will sink in night — with not a ray 
To light its gloom — though seeming gay. 
Though eyes may beam, and lips my smile, 
Think not the heart is light the while ! 

€\t Xilt( n n tt tjr* Ensr. 

In a garden of beauty, a brilliant Eose grew. 
Beside a fair Lily and Violet blue ; 
The Eose towered up in its glory and pride, 
Whilst the Lily and Violet drooped by its side. 

" Pale Lily, how sad is thy fate ?" — cried the Queen — 
" And thou, little Miss, ' born to blush thus unseen ;' 
/bask in the sunshine of honor and praise, 
While ye all unnoticed must number your days ! 


" Each day rosy lips my rich petals are pressing, 
And soft, gentle hands my rare beauties caressing ; 
But alas ! tintless Lily and Violet blue, 
None smile admiration and love upon you ! " 

" Nay, not so, glowing Eose " — the sweet Lily replied — 

" Though thy radiant beauty to us is denied, 
There are virtues more lovely to us have been given — 
Rare virtues that only claim kindred with Heaven. 

" We seek not the praise of the world's giddy train, 
Nor in its great vortex unrivaled to reign ; 
Be ours the calm joy of a life all secluded, 
Even though of all smiles but kind Heaven's denuded. 

" 'Tis true thou art flattered and praised and ' caressed,' 
That thy 'petals are daily by rosy lips pressed ;' 
But boast not, proud Rose, of thy glory and fame, 
For all glowing beauties are courted the same. 

" True beauty consists not in external show — 
In the rich tints that now on thy bosom bright glow ; 
True beauty is deathless, but thine will soon fade, 
Too soon will it sink to oblivion's shade ! 

" There are charms far more lovely than thou canst e'er boast, 
Sweet charms by all worthy ones courted the most; 
They seek not the laudings of Earth's giddy round, 
But modestly shrink from its frivolous sound. 


" All beauty is fleeting but that of the pure, 
Thy charms will soon fade, but ours will endure 
'Till the withering blast of the winter's cold breath, 
Shall hurry us down to the valley of Death. 

" Unlike thee, we court not the world's ardent gaze, 
But in quiet, reposing, seek worthier praise ; 
The modest and meek seek my sheltering care, 
For with purity ever dwell virtues so rare. 

" We envy thee not, vaunting Kose, in thy pride, 
While drooping unnoticed and low at thy side, 
For though thou art blooming in radiance to-day, 
To-morrow thy beauty may wither away ! 

" And when for another thou'rt coldly neglected — 
When for a more lovely thy charms are rejected, 
Thou'lt learn then that Glory and Honor and Fame 
Are naught but an empty and fast-fleeting name !" 

The Rose smiled in scorn, as the Lily's tones died, 
And waved its gay head its meek friend to deride ; 
But the tempest rode by, on its annual round, 
And its leaflets, untimely, lay strewed o'er the ground ! 

" Alas I" — said the Lily and Violet blue, 
As night showered o'er them its diamond dew — 

"Alas! for the charms that so fleetly decay, 
When sunlight streams not o'er Life's prosperous way I" 


€nmt 1'nrk 


Come back! a heart is sighing 

To nestle close to thine : 
Fond eves are faintlj- smiling, 

Beneath thy cottage vine. 
Come back ! a cherub calls thee, 

In song of infant j< 
His rosy mouth is lisping — 

Come to thy baby-boy ! 

A wreath of soft pale moonbeams, 

Studded with gems of light, 
Binds up the jeweled tresses, 

Bound the young brow of Night. 
With tiny feet slow tottering 

Beneath thy bright home-bower, 
And dimpled hands all trembling, 

Like rose leaves in a shower. 


He climbs the open lattice, 

Where flower-breath flutters through, 
And watches for thy form, with eyes 

Like violets filled with dew. 
Come back ! Not only loved ones, 

That fill thy bosom's fane, 
Would welcome with warm thrillings, 

A dear one home again. 

Full many a gush of gladness, 

Which thy dear, gentle tone 
Hath wakened into music, 

Is hushed, since thou art gone ! 
Come back ! true hearts are calling, 

In love's own melting tone ; 
Hearts that would yield their throbbings 

To shield and save thine own ! 

Yes ! hearts are not all selfish, 

Beneath yon calm, blue sky ; 
• There are, that "for a good man 

Would even dare to die." 
Come back ! we miss thy smiling, 

Where once thy footsteps trod, 
We miss thy deep heart-eloquence 

Within the house of God ! 

Another fills thy place, now, 
And echoes back thy tone ; 

We love his truthful breathings, 
But he is not our own. 

WHEN? 169 

Come back I there is no music 
Can make the heart rejoice, 

Like the deep, earnest blessing 
Of a dear Pastor's voice ! 



When" wilt thou come ? oh wanderer ! when ! 

Full many a Summer bloom 
Hath drooped and faded from its stem 

To Autumn's chilly tomb 
Since thou went forth ! The winter's breath 

Hath shrieked in mockery by, 
And wrapped its snowy shroud around 

Poor Nature's closing eye ; 


And many a bitter blast bath swept 

Around thy cottage eaves, 
Where wan and mournful Solitude 

In dimness sits and grieves ! 
Aye, Silence sobs in anguish there, 

In unmolested sway, 
And weaves its dusky web about 

Thy home's deserted sway ! 

Oh wanderer ! doth no yearning wish 

E'er struggle in thy soul, 
To leave the stranger's heart afar, 

For Love's own peaceful goal ? 
Doth not a sigh, one trembling sigh, 

Swell in thy true heart's fane, 
To fold thy weary wings to rest, 

Within thy home again ? 

Oh ! when the ruddy Spring shall come, 

With roses bright and gay — 
When leaves of green unfold again, 

Wilt thou be far away ? 
We know full many a sacrifice, 

Thy heart hath nobly made 
For us — full many a fond desire, 

Upon its altar, laid. 

We know that thou hast yearned to look 

Upon thy loved afar, 
To fold within thy sheltering arms, 

Thy dear home's brightest star, — 

WHEN? 171 

To list the gushing melody 

Of Childhood's sinless art — 
To watch the lovely light that floats 

From Infancy's young heart. 

All, all of this thou hast resigned 

Love's mission to fulfill ; 
God shield thee, wanderer on thy way, 

From all of earthly ill! 
'Twas only yesterday we sat 

Beneath the sacred dome 
Reared by a sacrifice — the joj^s 

Of thy long-darkened home ! 

The thunder of a mighty Mind, 

In awful majesty, 
Evoked a memory of the Past, 

And whispered us of thee. 
Oh ! would that thy dear voice had been 

The first to echo there ; 
That dome, methinks, should have received 

Thy consecrating prayer! 

Yet since " whatever is, is right," 

How we rejoice that he — 
The gifted — should have come from far, 

To do this work for thee. 
We fain would say Come back ! — and yet 

We dare not breathe it now ; 
We know that thou art given to God, 

And to His will we bow. 


But, wanderer, when thy toils shall end. 

Nor all the past be vain, 
Full many a waiting heart will joy 

To meet thee here again. 
Till then, whene'er thy thoughts begirt 

The past, in fancy free, 
Oh ! breathe one kindly prayer for her 

Who speaks from far to thee ! 

log nf /m&nm. 


Haek ! a gladsome gush is stealing 
Through the pulsing heart of Earth, 

Nature's patriot lip is pealing 

Choral hymns to Freedom's birth ! 


Heirs of Freedom ! hymn the story ! 

High as heaven the anthem raise ; 
Under God, the fount of glory, 

Shout, thy dear Deliverer praise ! 


See the starry penon streaming, 

Wide unfurled by Victory's hand, 
Proudly out, in sunlight gleaming, 

O'er our free and happy land ! 

Heirs of Freedom, &c. 

Union's golden links are binding 

Heart to heart, in Freedom's home ; 
Fragrant wreaths of hopes are winding 

Brightly round its stately dome ! 

Heirs of Freedom, &c. 

Tinted wings of Peace are pressing 
Faith and Love to Freedom's breast ; 

Hail to Virtue's priceless blessing ! 
Hail to Valor's rich bequest ! 


Heirs of Freedom ! hymn the story ! 

High as heaven the anthem raise ; 
Under God, the fount of glory, 

Shout, thy dear Deliverer praise ! 


$)tf~#nttr Inurs. 


Another year is tottering 

On Time's projecting verge ; 
Soon shall the wintry night-winds chant 

Its mournful funeral dirge ! 
And ah ! how many hopes 'twill bear 

From weeping hearts away, 
That bloomed, when first its eye looked through 

The lattice of young day ! 

Sweet hopes that glowed within the light 

That fringed its roseate dawn — 
Heart-hopes that nestled warm and bright, 

Now gone — forever gone ! 
The voiceless Night is all around, 

And Earth's great heart is still, 
And Memory from her thrall unbound, 

Goes wandering wild, at will. 


It roveth in the hours that were, 

O'er childhood's sunny plain, 
Where sleep its early joys, so fair, 

That ne'er shall wake again ! 
Dost thou not dream, my Mary dear, 

O'er all the buried Past, 
When Solitude her mantle drear, 

O'er Nature's form hath cast? 

Night is the time for sweetest thought, 

The soul more freely springs 
Away to scenes with gladness fraught, 

On Fancy's fairy wings. 
When golden sunshine floods the sky, 

The present holds the heart ; 
But when Night's shadows dimly lie 

O'er weary earth's hushed mart. 

The Past's pale hand, from out the gloom, 

Steals softly, to unroll 
Time's printed page of blight and bloom, 

Before the yearning soul. 
The Past, with all its hopes and fears, 

Comes crowding round me now ; 
Its page is blotted o'er with tears, 

Yet Hope sits on its brow. 

Fair Fancy lingers 'mid its haunts, 

And stems its azure wave, 
Till stalks Reality and chants 

A requiem o'er its grave ! 


Its grave ! — fond memory silent creeps 

To bathe it with, her tears ; 
Lonely above its form it weeps — 

The buried form of years. 

High waves from Time's deep sea have swept 

Between thy heart and mine, 
And words of love have sweetly crept 

From other hearts to thine. 
But have they, Mary, quite effaced 

The tracings of my hand ? 
Dost thou ne'er wander through the past, 

"With one in this far land ? 

I've strayed within a Northern clime, 

And wandered far and wide, 
Through light and shade been borne by time, 

Upon its varied tide ; 
Yet still my heart falls fondly back, 

And leans on days long o'er, 
As warm as ere our little barque 

Weighed anchor from the shore. 

And now beside the child of years, 

That Time hath coldly slain, 
By Memory's helm, Affection steers 

Back to that shore again. 
The ways we trod, the scenes afar, 

Where we were wont to stray, 
Are blooming as of yore, but ah ! 

The loved ones — where are they ! 


All ! some we prized in years gone by, 

Are living now with God ; 
The furrowed cheek, the youthful eye, 

Lie low beneath the sod ! 
Ah ! those were lovely days, Mary, 

"When we together roved 
With those in far eternity — 

The loving and the loved. 

Bright years whose music- whispers flow 

Back to our hearts in vain; 
For ah ! the dreams of " long ago," 

We ne'er shall know again ! 
Yet will we calm sad memory's sighs 

O'er leaves from Life's book riven, 
Since every rolling year that dies 

But wafts us nearer Heaven. 

***** * * 

* * * * * * 



The midnight tolls ! The year is gone, 

Beneath Oblivion's tide, 
And Time hath brought a younger Son, 

To make the Earth his bride. 
Fair be the hours his hand shall fling 

Around thy way, Marie ; 
And may his latest footstep bring 

Blessings for thine and thee ! 


(Elfr Tflnrfr (Ours— Itfljm an r $]jj|? 

I know 'tis vain to wander back, 
And linger o'er life's early track, 

Amid its faded flowers ; 
But who, tlie spirit's wing, can stay, 
Plumed for its flight far, far away 

To childhood's holy hours ? 

I know 'tis vain, and yet I fly 
Back to the peaceful days gone by, 

Where we were wont to stray ; 
The ways we trod, the scenes afar, 
Are blooming as of yore, but ah ! 

The loved ones — where are they ! 

The loved ones ! — some are sleeping now, 
With pulseless heart, and icy brow, 

Low, low beneath the sod ! 
In life's dim evening some have gone, 
And some in youth's fair, rosy dawn, 

Went smiling back to God. 


And some ! ah ! that we could efface 
The lines of Time's dark finger-trace 

Upon the page of years ! 
Pale leaves that tell a tale of woe, 
Folded by Fate in "long ago," 

And sealed with Memory's tears ! 

The lip may learn to smile, when Death 
Hath hushed for aye the loving breath 

Of one in truth arrayed, 
But there's a "grief that cannot feel," 
Which "leaves a wound that will not heal " — 

The heart's young trust betrayed/ 

'Tis vain ! all vain ! whate'er they say 
Of long years bearing all away 

The Spirit's earliest care ! 
Till Life's pure star in Death hath set, 
We may not, cannot quite forget 

The blight in hours that were ! 

The hopes, the brilliant hopes of yore, 
They come no more ! they come no more ! 

Passed with the years away ! 
And phantoms float from "long ago," 
Through hours that were, and whisper low — 

The loved ones — where are they I 


<Djl! (Bhi 3Hj 9hrk mil 23 5 art again 

Oh ! give me back my heart again ! 

And let it wander free, 
Wide o'er earth's fair and lovely plain, 

Nor live alone for thee. 
Why hast thou stolen from its rest, 

The tiny, trembling dove, 
And folded up within thy breast, 

Its every thrill of Love ? 

Oh ! give me back my heart again ! 

It is a fearful thing 
To prison in our bosom's fane, 

The spirit's quivering wing ! 
I never feared, a heart like mine, 

Such thraldom could await, 
Until — until — ah me ! 'twas thine 

The power to seal its fate ! 

Oh ! give me back my heart again ! 

You do not know its pride ; 
'Twould wither in the wreathing chain, 

Its fettered form to hide ! 


I could forgive for every sin, 

Thou holder of my heart, 
But that which binds me, the within 

Perfection — what thou art ! 

(Ejn itfo&mr. 

Young Love went forth one summer day, 
With buoyant heart and bright array, 
To twine a wreath of fragrant flowers, 
Beneath young Life's unsullied bowers. 

Pale Envy watched the lovely boy, 
And maddened at his sinless joy, 
So softly stealing to his side, 
His sweet employ she durst deride. 

But Love regardless gently smiled, 
And lightly trilled his warbles wild, 
Till Envy fled in mute despair, 
And sent her sister Slander there ! 


Young Love looked up and smiled again, 
Low warbling out his silver strain ; 
The dark twin-sister tarried long, 
As if enchanted with his song ; 

With gentle lip and artless smile 
Advancing near the boy the while, 
Until alas ! the fairest leaf 
Of love, was soiled with pain and grief! 

The bright-eyed boy looked down and pressed 
The wreath more closely to his breast, 
Soft hymning forth the soothing song, 
That loved ones dearer are, for wrong. 

Bold Slander baffled, turned to flee, 
And met, approaching, Penury ; 
With wasted cheek and moaning wild, 
He knelt beside the lovely child, 

And whispered him of want and care, 

If he should longer linger there, — 

The fair boy looked on Penury, 

And smoothed his brow, and laughed in glee, 

Outspreading so his winsome wile, 
That Penary was forced to smile! 
Confessing in his secret heart, 
To constant Love's bewitching art. 


"With milder brow lie passed away, 
And left young Love to chant the lay, 
That whilst the loved shall lift their eye 
With faith and truth, Love cannot fly. 

Unkindness now came o'er the lea, 
And scoffed at baffled Penury ; 
With stately step and sullen lower, 
He wended on to Love's bright bower. 

The boy looked up but trembled now, 
And lowly bent his fading brow ; 
A ruthless hand the spoiler laid 
Upon the wreath that Love had made ; 

The blossoms withered in his breath, 
And gave their fragrance unto Death ; 
Love gathered up their all of worth, 
And fled a wanderer o'er the earth. 


$11 Blanj. 

A line for thy Album ? — 

A ivisli it shall be ; 
The heart of the stranger 

Unfoldeth to thee. 

I know not nor ask if 
Thine eyes be as bright 

As the stars that are sparkling 
In beauty to night ; 

But may not a tear-drop 

Of anguish be hid, 
In years that await thee, 

Beneath their pure lid ! 

I know not, I ask not, 

If beauty be thine ; 
The rose and the lily 

May richly combine, 

TO MARY. 185 

To render thee lovely 

As yon starry gem 
Bedecking the circlet 

Of Night's diadem ; 

But may, gentle Mary, 

Thy heart's lovely leaf, 
Through life be unsullied 

By tracings of Grief! 

And when its last petal 

Shall wither and die, 

May seraph-wings bear thee 

Away to the sky ! 


jfnr, fur 51m nij. 

Far, far away where the sunlight is drifting 
Golclenly onward in glittering showers — 

Where the young Sj^ring's rosy fingers are lifting 
Up the sweet eye-lids of half-wake flowers — 

"Where the broad arms of old maples are flinging 
Shadows of purple across the green lea — 

Where the recesses of woodland are ringing 
With the clear numbers of bird-melody — 

Where the sweet jessamine tendrils are clinging 
Round the old eaves with their blossoms so gay — 

Where the soft breath of the south breeze is singing, 
Nestles the home of my childhood away. 

Far, far away where the eglantine creepeth 
Stealthily on in the track of young Spring — 

Where the pale twilight in arms of Night weepeth 
Tear drops of dew on the zephyr's cool wing — 


Where tlie first star of still evening is shining 
Tremblingly down through the clustering leaves, 

Struggling 'mid shadows, and silvery lining 
Solitude's cell, as he sitteth and grieves — 

Where the green moss-turf, bespotted with flowers, 
Softens and smiles in the glimmering ray — 

Hearts that once loved us, in long-buried hours, 
Lie in last slumber, so far, far away ! 

Unfolding blossoms their fragrance are flinging, 
From their pure chalices, brimming with dew ; 

Heather and woodland with melodj^ ringing, 
As Nature listeth 'neath curtains of blue ; 

Fairy -like fingers rose-jewels are wreathing 
'Mid the rich tresses of mild-bosomed May, 

Whiles her low musical whisper seems breathing 
Of the sweet home of my childhood away ! 

Never again will this heart bloom as brightly, 

Never again as in youth's sunny day ! 
Hope never flit through this bosom as lightly, 

As in that vine-cottage, far, far away ! 



He never said lie loved me, 

And yet I'm very sure 
There's trouble in his manly heart. 

That I alone can cure. 
I saw a silken missive, 

Not very long ago, 
With something in its snowy folds, 

That almost told me so. 

I know not what I murmured, 

He soon grew very sad ; 
I'm sure I answered something, that 

I wish I never had! 
For now there's less of gladness 

Within his gentle tone ; 
Oh, that I could recall the past, 

My heart is growing lone ! 


I'm very sure he loves me 

As in the clays of old ; 
Alas, he will not breathe it now, 

Because he thinks me cold ! 
Oh ! if I dared to tell him — 

But no ! I never can ! 

CThey say a heart that's lightly won, \ 
___Is lightly prized by man ! ^/ 

I never meant to love him, 

I've wearied every art, 
And formed a thousand, thousand plans 

To keep him from my heart ; 
But now if he should whisper, 

As in the days of old, 
I know I'm very, very sure 

He would not think me cold ! 


tfjfi IDnst #jm. 


His home is in Heaven, his cares are all o'er, 

His spirit liath gone to its rest ; 
That hushed heart shall wake to earth's anguish no more, 

From the sleep of the grave's dreamless breast. 
Oh ! weep je so softly around the loved grave, 

Where the form of the hero is lying ; 
In life he was noble, and loving, and brave, 

In death shall he live on undying. 

He hath gone to soft rest, in yon bright world of glory, 

Where "mountains of spices" and lakes of j^erfume, 
With seraphs and cherubim wing the glad story — 

"A spirit hath triumphed o'er death and the tomb !" 
He sleeps — let him rest, for Jehovah hath spoken 

His spirit away to the bosom of Love ; 
The sweet spell of life's golden dream he hath broken, 

To lay its bright links on the altar above. 


He hath gone to his rest — the cannon's lond rattle, 

May ring its death-dirge o'er the crimson-dyed plain, 
But calmly he sleepeth where never earth's "battle, 

Shall wreath his dear brow with life's glory again ! 
Toll ! toll ye a knell ; for the fallen 'tis meet, 

That mantled in glory lies slumbering low — 
Who lifted the wreath from the crown of Defeat, 

And twined it in beauty round Victory's brow. 

His home is in Heaven, the noble, the brave ! 

Bound his head, angels vigils are keeping ; 
The heart of a Nation mourns over the grave, 

Where the hero is peacefully sleeping ! 
Tread lightly, aye lightly, around his lone bier, 

In the pomp of earth's marshalling train ; 
He hath breathed his last sigh, he hath wept his last tear, 

No cares shall encloud him again. 

Sleep on, noble Patriot, honored and dear, 

Rest, rest on thy pillow of clay ; 
Thy virtues are writ in a nation's lone tear, 

That Time's waves can ne'er wash away. 
Farewell, then farewell ! — we have laid thee to rest, 

In the bright Summer's blossom-fringed grave — 
When the blooms of Life's coronal fade in our breast, 

May we meet thee o'er Jordan's dim wave. 


€\i aSrtiml Itfnnijj. 

Wear it lightly — its flowers are frail, 
A breath can blight their bloom ! — 

Full many, as fair, lie crushed and pale, 
Upon an early tomb ! 

Wear it lightly — each blossom fair, 
That wreaths thy youthful brow, 

Enfolds a world of joy or care, 
To grace thy bridal vow. 

Wear it lightly — each pearly leaf 

Is made of earthly trust ; 
Oh ! may no shadow of pale grief 

Return them "unto dust." 

Wear it lightly — thy all of rest, 

Is folded in its flowers ; 
Ah ! never shall thy youthful breast, 

Eenew its joyous hours, 


Of quiet hopes and peaceful dreams, 
That blessed thee, single-hearted — 
Ah! "fearful trust " of fitful gleams — 
"Its childhood is departed !" 

Oh ! fadeless may the wreath entwine 

Around thy lovely brow ; 
And bright as this full heart of mine 

"Would gild thy early vow. 

True live the heart that wove the tie 

That binds each spotless bloom ! 
And be, for every earthly sigh, 

The Bridal Wreath — a tomb. 


Til) II. 

' Like blossomed trees o'erturned by vernal storm, 
Lovely in death the beauteous ruin lay." — Young. 

A smile is lingering on her lip, 

How sweetly fair she lies, 
With the deep-fringed and waxen lids 

Veiling her soft dark eyes. 
The pale wreath nestles on her breast, 

Of pearly buds and flowers, 
Clustered in snowy loveliness, 

Like girlhood's golden hours. 

Can this be Death — stern Death, that flings 

So soft a halo-light 
Around her fair and polished brow, 

And marble cheek of white ? 
And will they lay our lily-bud — 

Our early-blighted bloom, 
Away from our lone, yearning hearts, 

Low in the voiceless Tomb ! 


All ! will the light and bounding step, 

The music-tones of yore, 
That echoed through these darkened halls, 

Break on our ear, no more ! 
No more ! no more ! — how stilly sleeps 

That early coffined head ! 
And many a hope of joyous birth, 

Lies with the youthful dead ! 

Fold the winding sheet around her, 

Lay her down to rest 

In the Summer's breast ! 
Bring the pearly wreath that bound her, 

Strew its fading flowers — 

Symbol of her hours — 
Withering in beauty o'er her tomb, 
Breaking up in soft perfume, 

Above her icy cheek, 

That lieth pale and meek, 

Smiling, yet ever hid 

Beneath the coffin-lid ! 

Idol of many hearts, farewell ! 

Thou hast full many a shrine 
Within affection's faithful fane, 

And none more warm than mine. 
Not long I knew thee, ere stern Death 

Our friendship came to sever, 
But, gentle one, thy memory 

Will blossom on forever. 



Thou wast not one to be forgot — 

That warm and artless heart 
Were only known to weave a spell 

That time nor death could part. 
Ah ! I remember well the eve, 

The lovely eve in May, 
When in thy white and dimpled hand, 

An opening rosebud lay. 

Methinks I see thy hazel eye, 

And hear thy girlish tone, 
As with a bright and loving smile, 

You placed it in mine own. 
I watched its snowy leaves grow dim, 

And darken day by day, 
Nor thought the one that gave, like it, 

So soon would fade away ! 

Its lovely leaves and mossy stem, 

Lie seared and scattered now — 
Pale emblem of thy young hushed heart, 

And dimly shrouded brow ! 
Farewell, dear one ! — the grave may hide 

Thy sleeping form awhile, 
But not for aye — the music tone. 

And softly beaming smile, 

Shall break upon our hearts again, 

Amid the starry throng 
Where Angels teach thy spirit-lips 

A sweeter, holier song — 


Where opening buds are never crushed, 

Where loved and lost ones dwell — 
Where loving hearts are never hushed 

Nor breathe the word farewell! 

(T'ljr $nM llnnin 

" Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes, 
And fondly broods, with miser care ; 
Time but the impression deeper makes, 
As streams their channels deeper wear." — Burns. 

I've treasured long, too long and well, 
The memories of thy early spell, 

Pale, blighted flower ; 
But ten and seven summers shed, 
Their living glories round my head, 
When o'er my shadeless brow jou. hung, 
And 'mid my curls of auburn clunp;, 

In girlhood's hour. 
Thy leaflets, then, so pure and fair, 
Told not, as now, of grief and care, 

Of change and death ! 


The breath of flowers "was floating on, 
Blending with eve's low whispered tone, 
When loving hands, with youth's first vow, 
Laid thee upon my blushing brow, 

And in Love's breath, 
Symboled a heart unsoiled with grief, 
By thine own snowy, stainless leaf, 

Unfolding white. 
Ah ! lovely memories thou dost bring, 
And all too fondly yet, they cling, 

Too warm and bright, 
Around this shadowed heart of mine, 
Blighted in youth, poor bud, like thine ! 
Where is the bright, the brilliant flow, 
The soul's glad gush of "long ago?" 
Where is the gentle hand's caress, 
That bound thee, in thy loveliness, 

L T pon my brow ? 
And where the smile, the loving tone, 
That blessed my heart in years agone ? 
Oh ! must the hopes of girlhood lie 
Buried for aye, with years gone by ? 
Up from the wreck, the tomb of yore, 
Remembrance whisj)ers — " Evermore!" 
'Tis well — the Past is all a dream, 
A varied wreath, a chequered gleam, 

Unheeded now. 
Forgotten ? can the heart resign 
At will, such golden dreams as mine ? 
Can all the past, the starry past, 
Eepose in Lethe's breast at last ? 


The lieart must school itself in vain, 
The buried past will live again, 
And bind the soul's resisting power, 
In deathless thought, till life's last hour. 

Ah! now 'tis o'er; 
Why have I treasured thee so long, 
Poor withered flower ? — they say 'tis wrong 
To fondly fold in Memory's cell, 
The shatters of that broken spell. 
Away, away ! nor mock me now, 
"With dreams of that remembered tow ! 
The heart is all too prone to teem 
With memories of a faded dream, 
Without a talisman to sweep 
The surges of its broken deep ; 
Then go ! and with thy parting breath, 
May thought of thee, die in thy death ! 
Go ! all thou tellest of are gone ; 
The clasping hand, the smile, the tone ; 
The joys to which my young heart clung, 
And "Hope lies sick on the arm she hung" — 
All, all with few dim years have flown, 
To thrill my heart so early lone, 
No more ! no more ! 


»jru Sit? 

Why not? — the world is bright and fair, 

And youth was never meant for care ; 

The breath of Spring is on the lea, 

And Earth is full of melody ; 

The bright- winged birds have come again, 

And mossy hill, and budding plain, 

And shady grot, and cool recess, 

Are vocal with heart-happiness ; 

And rippling rill, and fountain free, 

And liquid lake, and starry sea, 

Are living with the spirit-part 

Of beauty, that must thrill the heart. 

"Why not ? — old Winter's icy breast, 
In Spring's young arms hath sunk to rest ; 
And bursting buds in beauty bloom, 
And whisper love above his tomb ; 
Green leaves unroll on every stem, 
Disporting each a diadem, 

WHY NOT? 201 

To wreath the brow of graceful Spring, 
And "fragrance in her footing fling ;" 
Joy warbles in each bloom and bough, 
All things are gladsome, — why not thou ? 

Why not ? — young Nature blooms for thee, 
And brook, and bird, and bud, and bee, 
Are humming in the balmy air, 
Telling the heart of all things fair ; 
Away with dreams of change and grief! 
Hope laughs on every infant leaf, 
And softly stoops, at Love's behest, 
To drop her anchor in thy breast. 

Bare thy pale brow to Nature's kiss, 
And woo her tones of hymning bliss ; 
What though a jewel from thy heart, 
Lethiferous hand hath torn apart ; 
The soul is only truly worth, 
That triumphs o'er the ills of earth ; 
Like a lone star in stormy night, 
Fair Virtue beams more purely bright, 
Struggling through the mephitic haze, 
That shrouds Life's labyrinthine ways ; 
Then sweep the shadow from thy brow, 
All earth is smiling, why not thou ? 

202 HEAR T-l)ii OPS. 

SI '$riiintr. 

They tell me slie was young and fair, 
A creature graced with virtues rare ; 
The fairest things the soonest die, 
For beauty's home is in the Sky, — 
Then father, mourn not, that thy bloom 
Thus early sleeps within the Tomb ! 

And she was gentle as the flowers 
That gladden young life's budding bowers : 
Ah ! hearts that lose a joy like this, 
May well be sad for blighted bliss, — 
Yet, mother ! while fond nature weepeth, 
Know thou, " She is not dead, but sleepeth. 

Ah ! softly smooth her silken hair, 
Upon her icy forehead fair ; 
Sister ! yield up thy bosom's pride, 
Death claims her for his spirit-bride ! 
Tlush ! whisper not a word of woe, 
Death brooks no rival here below. 


Fond brother ! press her lovely brow, 
It is the last — yet meekly bow 
To Him whose hand thy heart hath riven, 
The gem was only lent, not given ; 
And though the casket moulders, now, 
The jewel decks Eedemption's brow ! 

"We live to love — oh ! what were Earth 
Without this germ of heavenly birth ! 
What though the mildew of Decay, 
Our idol ones may waste away, 
Bereavement lifts Affection's eye, 
And plants Hope's standard in the Sky. 

"lain lijdl % <Bini Cjjn tip. 1 

"How shall I give thee up" — He cried, 
Who spake a World from naught — 
Who formed old Ocean's rolling tide, 
And light in Chaos wrought. 
" 'Twere naught for me to form the Sun, 
And call the stars to light ; 
Ten thousand thousand years are one, 
And worlds on worlds a mite. 


" I speak, and mountains flee away, 

I bid, and sea-waves part ; 
I shroud the night and robe the day, 

And hush the troubled heart. 
I walk upon the raging tide, 

And still the thunder's roar ; 
Nor worlds, nor suns, my wrath can bide, 

I am for evermore. 

" For thee I formed Eedemption's plan, 
And drained the bitter cup ; 

Thy ramsom paid, and now, oh man ! 
How shall I give thee up !" 

It came on every whispering breath, 
In every silvery drop ; 

Oh man ! it echoed still in Death, 

" How shall I give thee up !" 



H Make room ! make room ! ye demons dark, 

I come!" — the spirit cried; 
" On waves of woe I'll launch my barque, 
From Mercy scorned to hide !" 
Yet still the silent whisper came — 

He fled lost words of Hope, 
And stifled in the billowy flame, 
" How shall I give thee up !" 


" But can it be, kind lady, thine 

The power to cancel buried years ? 
Or gaily tread the trailing vine, 

Nor wet the ' faded flower ' with tears ? " — D. Scott. 

Ah no ! not mine the power, my friend, 
To "cancel buried years " — they blend 

With present hours ; 
Thought's shadowy finger, wan and pale, 
Oft points adown the dreamy vale 
Of other days, that sighing lie 
Beneath young life's o'erclouded sky ; 
And memory from her misty pane, 
Reviews those hallowed scenes again — 
The gems that gleamed in other years — 
And " wets the faded flower with tears." 

The early powers 
That twine around a trusting heart, 
Nor time, nor change can ever part ; 
On moaning wing they come from far, 
Breaking upon the spirit's ear, 
"Waking the soul in whispers mute, 
Like lingerings of a shattered lute. 


All ! if to finite minds were given 
That power — the attribute of Heaven — 
The "power to cancel buried years," 
And seal sad Memory's urn of tears, 
How few of hearts would wend away 
Beyond the limits of to-day ! 

"Who would relume 
The shattered things of other hours, 
The yearning soul's long-blighted flowers ! 
The fond caress, the loving tone 
That blessed the heart in years agone ; 
The loves, the hopes, the joys of yore, 
That must be ours no more, no more ! 
Who would unshroud the heart's first bloom 
That early withered in the tomb ; 
Ah ! who would bend in Memory's tears, 
Beside a monument of years ! 
And yet the past is but a dream, 
No "trails of grief upon my brow;" 
Crushed hopes throw back a fitful gleam, 
That lingers all "unheeded now." 
A flush of early gladness wakes, 
In many a heart-hushed hour, 
And through the bosom's dream-mist breaks, 

Around the " faded flower ;" — 
We list a low and mournful wail, 
We gaze upon a vision pale — 
. 'Tis gone ! but bares within our breast, 
The deathless thought, in Heaven there's rest- 
Beyond the Tomb ! 


" I have no one to love me now." 

Why should we sigh, though gentle hands, 

Our brow no longer press ? 
Though distant for in stranger lands, 

We miss the fond caress, 
The sunny smile, the whispered tone. 

That soothed our spirit's care, 
There are that bend at Memory's tnronp, 

And breathe for us a prayer. 

Why should we sigh ? there throbs no heart 

Unwept, unloved by all ; 
Nature bequeaths to each a part 

In sweet affection's thrall. 
1 Bear on, and leave the rest to God," 

And smile at time and care ; 
There are, where once our footsteps trod, 

Who live to love us there. 


ITnij nf ± Jib fnut. 

(reply to a questioner.) 

" Why am I cold ?" — Is there a star 
That burns and glows in heaven afar ? 
Is there a stream, a bird, a flower, 
A page full fraught with mind's deep power ? 
While nature waves her verdant plume, 
And Mind stars earth with light and bloom, 
Within my heart there ne'er was room 
For aught but Love. 

" Did e'er I love ?" — Did e'er I see 
The blue waves tossing wild and free ? 
Did e'er I mark the azure skies 
Bending to earth their seraph eyes ? 
Did flowers around my way e'er bloom, 
And soft winds, freighted with perfume, 
Leave their pure breath upon my cheek, 
More eloquent than words can speak ? 
Then I have loved. 


Aye, I have loved as wild, as deep, 
As the waves that in the sea-bed sleep ; 
My heart is like the bounding fawn 
That roams the heath at morning dawn — 
Onward, for aye my gushing soul 
O'erflows and yet is never full. 
Such is the worship of my heart, 
The soul's rich gush, the spirit's part, 
The tiniest bud that gems the lea, 
Enfolds a world of love for me, 
The lightest bird of frailest wing, 
Can wake my soul's most secret spring, 
And every zephyr's cooling kiss, 
Trills songs of deepest love and bliss ! 

I love the pure, the true, the free — 

Talk not of other love to me ; 

Tell not of a heart that lays its worth 

On the altar of passion that clings to earth, 

That launches forth on the restless sea 

Of human love and perfidy, 

That gives to one its every thrill, 

Trusting for bliss to human will ! 

Oh ! tell me not of hearts that cling 

Around a mortal, changeful thing ; 

That turn from all the fair of earth, 

To give to one their treasured worth ; 

Who seeks a haven in mortal breast, 

But finds unquiet and unrest. 


Ok ! give to me the full, free soul, 
The spirit's flow that spurns control ! 
That roams unfettered, lawn and lea, 
That bounds in bliss o'er the dashing sea ! 
That bends beside the lowly cot, 
And cheers with smiles the orphan's lot, 
That dries the tear in sorrow's eye, 
And hushes up the heart's worst sigh, 
That flows alike to great and small, 
For God hath made and loveth all. 

Cjjmtgts nf Dnttji. 

The rose hath faded from my cheek, 

The lustre from mine eye, 
My weary heart is pulsing weak, 

Oh ! I am young to die ! 
Must I, with Autumn's tinted leaf, 

So early "pass away?" 
Father, wilt thou a life so brief, 

Shall fade with Nature's ray? 


I hear the Autumn's low, sweet breath 

Singing amid the trees ; 
I wonder if the angel Death, 

Comes flitting on the breeze ! 

Go back, pale Death, a, father's smile, 

Is on my heart impressed ; 
Go back, nor take me yet awhile, 

From a fond father's breast ! 
Go back ! I hear my mothers tone, 

Floating so soft and mild ; 

o ] 

Stay ! stay ! my mother would be lone' 
Without her loving child ! 

Go back! go back! a brother's kiss 

Is lingering on my brow ; 
Thou wilt not mar a brother's bliss — 

Angel ! not now — not now ! 
Oh ! quivering Death, fold up thy wing 

Behind the mist of years; 
Withhold, kind Death, withhold thy sting, 

Spare yet affection's tears ! 

But, Angel, when the blessed tone, 

Of earth's most treasured three, 
Shall soothe no more my spirit lone, 

I'll gladly go with thee ! 
I do not fear thee, whispering Death, 

But earth is yet so bright, 
I cannot wish thy blighting breath 

To shroud it from my sight. 


Oil no ! I do not fear to die, 

And yet, and yet I shrink, 
As broad eternity seems nigh — 

I falter on its brink. 
Why doth my heart so fondly cling 

To this bright world of bloom, 
When thy pale finger, Death, can bring 

Such bliss beyond the tomb ? 
Father, if I so soon must die, 

Grant it Thy will to be, 
Sleeping within Thy arms to lie, 

And wake in Heaven with Thee. 

I see thee, noble, dauntless, one, 

Eush wildly o'er the plain, 
Where, reeking, lie the mangled forms 

Of the dying and the slain ! 
The lightning gleams of hope and fear, 

Anon thy brow o'erspread, 
While on to "victory or death," 

Thou trampest o'er the dead ! 


The dead ! that strew the gory ground, 

The hearts through valor crushed ! 
While o'er the field thou treadest now, 

They on to battle rushed ! 
Like thine, their voices, too, were borne 

Upon the battle's din — 
Like thee, they braved destruction's shaft, 

A laurel-wreath to win ! 

Peace to their ashes — lightly tread 

Above their mortal frames ; 
Brave were their hearts, and glorious deed 

Will crown their gallant names. 
Cold lie they now, where Pity's tear 

Is deemed a dastard blot — 
Where Mercy's cries and dying groans 

Are all in strife forgot ! 

While distant far loved ones await, 

To twine affection's chain 
Around the well-remembered forms 

They ne'er shall clasp again ! 
Poor, stricken ones ! — how cheerless, now, 

Will be their once glad home, 
Since quenched for aye the beaming eyes 

That lighten up life's gloom ! 

And this is war — victorious war I 

Where crowns of glory bloom ! 
Ambition's height — and only grasped 

Above the yawning tomb ! 


Poor mortals ! how ye madly rush 
To win an earthly prize, 

Yet careless of the fadeless one 
Beyond the starry skies ! 


Oh ! why should we ever be dreaming 

Of hopes that have faded and gone, 
When life with new blessings is teeming, 

As bright as those withered at dawn ? 
Though blighted the rose we once cherished, 

And scattered its leaves o'er the plain, 
Yet why should we sigh for the perished, 

When time may bring others again ? 

What though we be pierced by the brambles 
That cluster on life's varied stem, 

We find in the perfume that trembles 
In the heart of each blossom, a balm. 


Then away, ye cold visions of sorrow, 
Nor lengthen your shadows before lis, 

We'll turn from thy darkness, and borrow 
New light from the dawn that breaks o'er us ! 

For why should we always be sighing, 

When time is so fleet on the wane, 
If grief can't prevent it from flying, 

Nor bring back past blessings again ? 
Ah then ! let us smile in the morning 

Of youth's glad and heart-gushing flow, 
And veil in far Heaven's blue awning, 

The shadows that shroud us below ! 

<Ditr in tjjr fitat. 

Down to Oblivion's silent cell, 
Another year 
Of hope and fear, 
On Time's revolving wheels has flown, - 
Its broken cords o'er Nature thrown, 
AVith low and melancholy moan, 
Its requiem sadly swell. 


How many hopes that joyful hailed 
Its new-born day, 
Have passed away 
Upon its evanescent breath, 
Down through the shadowy vale of Death? 
Memory from her lone bower saith — ■ 
Many bright hopes have paled ! 

How many eyes that sparkled gay — 
With love and joy — 
Without alloy — 
Upon its bright and budding dawn, 
Now at its close are dimmed and gone ; 
In silence lone they slumber on, 
Borne like the year away ! 

Back through the shadowy Past's dim maze, 
How oft will roam, 
In days to come, 
Many lone hearts by Memory stirred, 
That sigh alone, unwept, unheard, 
While tracing scenes to mind endeared — 
Sweet scenes of by-gone days ! 

Oh ! dry thou up each falling tear — 
Let not the past 
A shadow cast 
Across thy brow, for joys departed, 
Nor darkly o'er them brood lone-hearted, 
For grief's full fount when wildly started, 
Outlives each fleeting year ! 

LINES. 217 

Tis gone with all its smiles and tears ! 
Passed like a ray 
Of light, away ; 
Oh ! may we learn from follies past, 
To shun the snares beneath us cast, 
That we may live and reign at last, 
Through never-ending years ! 


Farewell, Lady, aye, forever, 

Chilling though the sound may be ; 
Though stern Fate our forms must sever, 

Still, dear Mary, think of me. 
Think of me as one who sorrows 

O'er the wreck of hopes once bright ; 
One whose heart no gladness borrows 

Even from Love's effulgent light ! 

Could it now the shackles sever, 

By another long entwined, 
Such pure words as thine, would ever 

Be within its fane enshrined. 


But that image lingers round me, 
All my dreams are still of her ; 

Deathless love which early bound me, 
Circles yet the changed though dear. 

Though my heart would fain forget her, 

Since I must her smile resign, 
Youthful joys will Memory fetter, 

Still doth fancy make her mine. 
Oh ! when lone from slumber breaking, 

When the world is wrapped in sleep, 
I, with soul to sorrow waking, 

Watch the silent stars and weep, 

For blooming hopes too early blighted, 

For her the dear, the changed of heart. 
Who mocks the early vow fond plighted, 

And wills that we forever part. 
Pity, then, the broken-hearted, 

One who weeps and sighs alone, 
O'er the thought of joys departed, 

O'er the hopes forever flown. 

Then farewell ! — oh ! lady, never 

May thy heart my anguish feel ; 
May no shade of sadness ever, 

On thy brow its impress seal ! 
But when sundered, though forever, 

Sometimes, Mary, think of me ; 
And till Death life's links shall sever, 

This crushed heart will pray for thee ! 

TO KATE, 219 

€u lab, of Itfilliflntstnit, 38 i C 

Thou'et with me here to-niglit, Kate, 
"Witli thy sweet, loving smile ; 

Ah ! often doth thy image dear, 
The lonely hours beguile. 

I'm ever thinking of thee, 
And dreaming o'er the hours 

When by thy side I lightly strayed 
Beneath the wildwood bowers. 

And soft thy low, sweet voice, 

Will steal upon my ear, 
Wooing my heart to by-gone days, 

When thou wast lingering near. 

That gentle voice is with me, 

Here in this far-off home, 
Low as the music of the woods 

Where wc were wont to roam. 

The sweet spring-breath is whispering 
Throughout that old domain, 

And tiny buds arc blowing bright, 
Amid its shades again — 


And thy dear voice is floating 

Upon each balmy breeze, 
As when / wandered with thee there 

Beneath the singing trees. 

That soft, sweet smile is vying 
With spring-tide's fairest ray — 

With melody the old woods ring, 
But / am far away ! 

But let the wilds bloom brightly, 
Where droop the lilies fair, 

Thou' It roam amid its purple shades, 
Though I may not be there. 

Yet ere the little churchyard — 
Where we've together strayed, 

And planted emblems of the dead — 
Shall be anew arrayed, 

Or ere the warblers tune afresh, 
Their glad and gushing throats, 

And wake the wild- wood's dreamy hush, 
With their mellifluous notes, 

Where hand in hand we've wandered, 
Wide o'er that old domair — 

To youthful scenes and early friends, 
I will be back again ! 


<Di* in tjir Iflillt-itfofr. 

I love the wild- wood's quiet nooks, 

Where purple shadows sleep. 
Where perfume lades each whispering breeze, 

And Spring's first blossoms peep ; 

Where budding vines caressing twine 

Around each monarch brave, 
And bend their coral cups to kiss 

The streamlet's leaping wave ; 

Where summer birds 'neath sheltering leaves, 
Pour forth their sweetest strains, 

Where all, save laughing winds, is hushed, 
And dreamy silence reigns. 

I love the wild-wood's shadowy glades, 

Its fragrant buds and flowers, 
Where music wakes each listless leaf, 

To charm the rosy hours. 

If earth hath aught of happiness, 

To soothe the troubled breast, 
Sure, 'mid the wild-wood's peaceful shades 

The weariest may find rest. 


$ t fl u i a B , 


Dear lady, I can ne'er forget 

The peaceful hour when first we met ; 

Thy gentle smile, thy placid brow, 

Thine eye of love, are present now — 

Mementoes of that lovely eve, 

In these poor faded flowers live ; 

Thy gift they were, of thee they speak, 

For thee they're prized in friendship meek. 

Though robbed of all their pristine dyes, 
They're not less lovely in my eyes, 
Than when they were in beauty given, 

time had seared, or dark blight riven. 
\ j id though we ne'er again may meet, 
I lay my offering at thy feet; 
Of purest friendship it will tell — 
Accept it, lady, fare thee well ! 

TO ELLEN. 223 

($11 (BlUlI. 

I would not thou sbouldst calmly glide 
Adown time's changeful, changing tide, 
Nor flowers and sunshine only glow 
Around thy pathway here below. 

I would not have thee ever bright, 
Each day steals beauty from the night, 
And eyes, like flowers, fresh sweetness wear, 
From pearly drops that tremble there. 

I would not that thy life should be 
Like to a smooth and silvery sea ; 
A calm hath far more power to charm, 
Preceded by a darkling storm. 

But I a wish do bear thee now, 
Dear girl, of youthful, sunny brow ; 
'Tis " Know thyself" oh maiden fair, 
All joy and beauty centres there. 


®{rr (Bitrlij irnir 

Behold, beside 3^011 early grave, 
Where flowerets bloom and grasses wave, 

A creature young and fair ; 
Her sable garb and drooping bead. 
While kneeling o'er that lowly bed, 

Tell that a friend rests there ! 

To heaven she lifts her tearful eye. 
And dwells upon the azure sky, 

Beyond whose concave bright, 
The soul of him she mourns below 
Now dwells where living waters flow, 

In calm and pure delight. 

Oh ! sad and lone that youthful heart, 
Where Death has sent his icy dart, 

And stilled its pulsings light ; 
No ray of joy her path illumes, 
No more for her the lily blooms, 

She lives in sorrow's niejht ! 


And well might she, the young and fair. 
Mourn for the one that resteth there. 

Beneath the flowery sod; 
Her plighted vow to hirn was given, 
Ere death their blended hearts had riven, 

And called him back to God ! 

ISTot long she lingered lonely here, 
Without a ray of hope to cheer 

Her pathway to the skies ; 
But, like a lily, drooped and died, 
And calmly, sweetly by his side, 

She now serenelv lies ! 

Initlj, 33npi, it nil turn. 

'Twas on a bright, calm summer day, 
A fairy barque sped fleet away 
O'er life's tempestuous sea of care, 
And neither Doubt nor Fear was there. 

Serenely o'er the tide it flew, 
While Love and Hope inspired the crew ; 
And Faith was there — a lovely guest, 
True pilot to eternal rest ! 


Love at the helm securely smiled, 
Amidst Time's billows rolling wild, 
While Hope with gentle mien stood near, 
Life's weary pilgrimage to cheer ; 

But mark, that dark portentous cloud, 
That comes with mutterings wild and loud! 
The three behold with anxious eye — 
" Fear not," says Faith, " no danger's nigh." 

On, on it comes, with threatenings deep, 
While Love and Hope their vigils keep, 
But Faith in an unguarded hour, 
Was lost by its o'erwhelming power. 

Love shuddered at the mighty loss, 
For only Faith could guide across 
The sea of Life, with sure success 
Of earthly peace, and heavenly bliss. 

" Be calm" — says Hope — "Faith may return ; 
While I am here why wilt thou mourn ?" 
But time swept on and still the crew 
Had only Hope to guide them through. 

Love at his post still trusting stood, 
And sighed for Faith to calm the flood ; 
But Faith came not, and Hope retired, 
And thus bereft Love soon expired ! 


jCrnrn tn In gilntt. 

"Learn to be silent," much speaking is vain, 
A light word may lose what thou ne'er canst regain : 
Kemorse creepeth in to an outspeaking breast, 

"Learn to be silent" and conscience will rest. 

"Learn to be silent" when folly goes round, 
And giddy ones echo the heartless resound ; 
When others' "eye-motes" prompt the levity tone, 

".Be silent" lest they see the "beam in thine own!" 

" Learn to be silent" when angry words rise, 
And Passion the whispers of Wisdom defies ; 
When wrathful reproaches rise higher and higher, 

" Learn to be silent, "' and rage will expire. 

When dark defamation from envious lips — 
That often the life-dew of innocence sips, 
From "vampire-like friends" goes whispering by, 
"Learn to be silent," and slander will die. 


$n mil Irttljn. 

Dear father, liow I love to gaze 

Upon thy placid brow, 
Sweet thoughts of early by-gone days, 

Come o'er my spirit now. 
Methinks I see the lovely tint 

Of youth upon thy cheek, 
Thy silvery tones with kindness blent, 

Still youthful ardor speak. 

Old Time hath o'er thee loving passed, 

And left unbowed thy form ; 
Thy heart with noblest feelings blest, 

Is yet unseared and warm. 
Unbleached remain thy auburn locks, 

Undimmed thy azure eye, 
Thy smile serene, at passion mocks, 

And speaks of joys on high ! 

May Time still gently pass thee o'er, 

My father, kind and dear, 
And when thy blessed voice no more 

Falls on my lonely ear, 
May God, too, call my spirit hence, 

To the bright realms of love ; 
From things of earth, from time and sense, 

To join thy soul above ! 

THEY MET. 229 

They met — 'twas by a rivulet 

Whose waters murmuring low, 
Fell sweetly on the pensive ear, 

With calm and tranquil flow. 
He gazed upon her beauteous face 

With deep, yet strange delight, 
As though a spirit from above, 

Had burst upon his sight. 

Her soft dark eyes drooped 'neath his gaze, 

And brightly bloomed her cheek, 
Inspiring deep impassioned thoughts, 

He dared not then to speak. 
Long, long he watched her graceful form, 

And dwelt upon her charms ; 
And felt a rising sigh lest she 

Should bless another's arms! 

Again they met — 'twas twilight hour, 

And shadows o'er them fell, 
While each was in deep silence bound, 

As by some secret spell. 


The whispering zephyrs round them played, 
And waved her ringlets fair, 

And flowers of brilliant beauty shed 
Their sweetness on the air. 

At length his deep-toned voice fell 

Like music on her ear, 
And wildly throbbed that gentle heart, 

With love, and hope, and fear ! 
In trembling accents, soft and lov\ r , 

He told his ardent love ; 
And vows so pure, recorded were, 

By angel hands above. 

Oh ! happy were the tears she shed 

Upon his manly breast, 
And sweet the first long kiss of love, 

That on her lip was pressed ! 
United were their youthful hearts, 

Beyond earth's power to sever ; 
Emotion told the joyful tale, 

That she was his forever I 


Vd\)\\ is it flint § T nt litii n n it I v nnt 

Why is it that I'm sad and lone, 

When friends are smiling near ? 
Why is it that my smile has flown, 

And life is dark and drear ? 
The ones I loved in other hours, 

Are lingering near me now, 
Yet still the cloud of sorrow lowers 

Around my lonely brow ! 

Why is it that the light of Hope 

Is fading from my sight ? 
Why is it that I pine and droop 

In sorrow's gloomy night? 
The charms that soothed in other years, 

Are blooming brightly yet ; 
Alas ! they only mock the tears, 

With which my cheek is wet ! 

All that once threw a halo bright 

Around my joyous brow — 
All that once cheered my youthful sight, 

Are hovering round me now — 

232 HEAKT-DttOPS. 

Then cease thy throbbings — hush thy sighs 
Poor heart — away with sorrow ! 

Though veiled to day, youth's sunny skies, 
They may beam bright to-morrow ! 

I see thee as thou wert of yore, 

Though years have fleeted by 
Since last we met. We'll meet no more 

Beneath yon azure sky ! 
'Tis done. Life's first sweet dream is o'er ; 

Fate frowns upon our way, 
And mocking cries — " Ye'll meet no more 

Where mortal footsteps stray !" 

Cold, cruel Fate ! — we meekly bend 

Before thy arrows fleet ; 
But when its earthly sway shall end, 

Oh ! may we, Henry, meet, 
Where fairest flowers perennial bloom, 

And ransomed spirits dwell — 
Where the green turf hides no dismal tomb, 

And none e'er s&y—fareivell / 


flu, ifnrg*t Mt. 

Go, forget me ! — let not sorrow 

Bound thee throw its galling chain ; 

Go, forget me, and to-morrow 
Thou mayst calmly smile again. 

Go, forget me ! — Hope's before thee, 
Shedding round a halo bright ; 

"Woo it while it streameth o'er thee, 
With its wealth of golden light. 

Hence and leave me ! — thou canst never 
Win the. heart thou fain wouldst wear ! 

Go ! and all that binds thee, sever, 
Ere it plunge thee in despair ! 

Go ! and may sweet peace and gladness, 

Ever in thy bosom dwell ! 
Haste ! and leave me to my sadness — 

Go, forget me ! — fare thee well. 


ۤi 3T- n d b h itttfr till. 

The loved and lost ! — how pure a spell 

Doth linger in that lonely sound ! 
How many golden memories dwell, 

Their dear, their treasured names around ! 
How oft we see the sunny smile 

That circled round their radiant brow — 
The gentle tone, the winsome wile, 

Is gathering softly round me now. 

The loved and lost! — the charms how sweet, 

That o'er us thickly cluster bright, 
"When Memory fills her downy seat, 

And sheds her wealth of rosy light. 
How fleet we trace the flowery ways 

Of childhood's bright and budding dawn ; 
Or linger in the sunny days 

Of youth's receding, brilliant morn. 

The loved and lost ! — the thoughts how dear, 
That to them fondly upward soar, 

Whose tones shall never on our ear, 
In thrilling music linger more ; 


Till Death's dark, frowning portals move, 
And Jordan's rolling waves are crossed ; 

Then in the crystal courts above, 
We may rejoin the loved and lost ! 

$lmtt nrt gntiB tn \\i #ror. 


Thou art gone to the Grave, and we deeply deplore thee, 
Though we know thou art resting on yon blissful shore, 

Where the palms of the ransomed triumphant wave o'er thee, 
Where sorrow and pain shall assail thee no more. 

Thou art gone to the Grave in thy noon-tide of glory, 
Bright seraphs have borne thee triumphantly home ; 

The walls of fair Zion give back the glad story, 
And echo — " Salvation to God and the Lamb !" 

Thou art gone to the Grave ! — in its silence reposing, 
Earth's joys and earth's sorrows alike are forgot ; 

And while to thy vision new joys are disclosing, 
Sad falleth the tear o'er thy last resting spot ! 

236 H EA RT-I'ROFS. 

Thou art gone to the Grave ! — in its bosom calm sleeping, 
Sweet resteth thy cold form untossed by Life's wave ; 

While the loving and loved o'er thy tomb are lone weeping, 
Though they know thou hast triumphed o'er "Death and the 

Thou art gone to the Grave ! — but we cannot forget thee ; 

O'er thy lone, stilly home, falls the sorrowing tear ; 
But since Heaven hath called, it were wrong to regret thee, 

Thou loved one and lost, e'er to Memory dear. 

Thou art gone to the Grave ! — holy Angels are keeping, 
With pinions of light, their watch o'er thy Tomb ! 

And when neath its shadows, like thee, we are sleeping, 
If the lamp of His love be our light through its gloom, 

In the regions of bliss, with the loved and departed, 
Where the " Wise ever shine as the firmament bright," 

Where no joys shall e'er fade, and no tear drop be started, 
We will triumph for aye in thy Star's fadeless light ! 


Ktsltjf nub WuVf. 


Gold will gild a worthless name, 
Virtue win a deathless Fame — 
Gold doth give us transient pleasure, 
Virtue wins a fadeless treasure — 
Gold begets us faithless friends, 
Virtue, love that never ends — 
Gold will buy Earth's loudest praise, 
Virtue wins us "length of days " — 
Gold may light our darkened way 
With its brilliant, dazzling ray, 
But its beams can ne'er compare 
With the light of virtues, rare — 
Wealth may vanish in a day, 
Beauty's bloom will fade away, 
Earthly joys may droop and die, 
Darkness cloud Hope's tinted sky, 
But the beauty of the soul 
Naught can dim while ages roll ! 


Stranger with the eye of t -1 1 
Flowing locks of auburn hue, 
Stately form and Parian brow, 
Oft I've asked me, who art thou ? 
Ah ! methinks that azure eye, 
Oft I've seen in time gone by ! 
Look I in its liquid deep, 
Waking saddened Memory's sleep ! 

And that starry light, I ween, 
Bound another brow I've seen ; 
Hush my heart thy tremblings wild, 
'Tis not that loved one that smiled I 
Saw I thee, when twilight pale 
Softly dropped her dewy veil 
O'er that soul-felt counterpart, 
That pure sunshine of the heart ! 

Like as sunbeams softly play 

O'er old Ocean's snowy spray, 

So the light of other days, 

'Neath thy smile, o'er Memory plaj^s! 


Care I not for ivhat thou art, 
Seek I not to knoiv thy heart, 
But with that remembered brow, 
Tell me, tell me ! who art thou ? 


Why comest thou not ? — we have waited thee long, 
And watched for thee oft 'mid the homeward-bound throng ; 
"We list for thy footfall, with heart wildly beating, 
To be, aye, the first one to give thee glad greeting ! 

Brother ! where art thou ? why dost thou yet linger 
Around the red plain traced deep by Death's finger ? 
The strife is long ended, the victory won ! 
But far thou still roamest from Home's peaceful sun ! 

"Why tarry so long ? dearest brother away 

From the battle-ground dark, to thy home's cheerful raj' : 

Dost mourn for a kindred that slumbereth nigh ? 

Is he, the bereaved one ! gone home to the sky ? 


"Where so lately she fled, has he gone to that rest? — 
Sweet Home ! starry Spirit-world ! land of the blest ! — 
Weep not for the lost one, the last pang is o'er, 
That hushed heart shall throb with wild anguish no morel 

Lay him down, gently down, in the cold, stranger earth, 
There as calmly he'll rest, as in that of his birth ; 
The pale withered wreath on his quiet grave lay, 
Then haste from the wilds of the Stranger, away ! 

"We miss thee when morning's first rosy gleam steals 
From the golden-fringed east, o'er the dew-dappled hills, 
When bird-notes are ringing from wild vine and tree, 
We love not their gladness, our hearts are with thee ! 

When the sunlight is fading far down in the west, 
And the misty twilight summons nature to rest, 
We watch, by the light of yon glimmering star, 
To welcome thee back from thy journey afar ! 

That pale star's faint glimmer hath faded away, 
Oft, oft, in the brilliance of day-speeding day — 
Morn's beamings have melted in night-shadows drear, 
Calling back yon sweet light — but thou art not here ! 

Sometimes I have thought — and it comes o'er me now, 
That the cold stamp of Death is impressed on thy brow ! 
That the angels have borne thee away to the sky — 
Away from earth's mists to the starlight on high ! 


Dear brother ! this heart hath wept many a tear, 
Since thy loving whispers have thrilled on our ear, 
But ah! if that blue eye forever is sleeping, 
My brother, this true heart hath never known weeping ! 

I plucked a young rose from its emerald stem, 
That bore in its bosom a ruby dew-gem ; 
Eegardless of all but its rare loveliness, 
Too fondly I clasped it, its petals to press. 

Unthinking of ill in so lovely a thing, 

A hidden thorn gave to my pressure its sting; 

Ejecting it rudely it fell to the ground, 

And its perfume waved up and floated around. 

From my lip to the lawn, ere it trembled to rest, 
My eye drank the tear in its beautiful breast ; 
And I sighed over beauty that darkly deceives, 
And hides the cold thorn 'neath its delicate leaves ! 

In pity I stooped to upraise the forlorn, 

And placed in my bosom the rosebud and thorn ; 

Its leaflets soon faded and fell from the stem, 

And naught is now left but the thorn and the gem ! 


Wt snifr finximtli. 

We said farewell — I saw the tear 

Begem thy azure eye, 
As lowly from thy gentle heart, 

Breathed up the sad "good-bye!" 
Tears ! what are they but mirrors true, 

Unframed by sullied art, 
Hung round the chamber of the soul 

To shadow forth the heart ? 

"We said farewell — perhaps we ne'er 

Shall meet on earth again, 
For hearts are frailer than the flowers, 

And dearest hopes are vain ! 
Aye, fleeting as the cooling dew 

That stars the shades of even, 
Faith, Hope, and Love as fleeting, too — 

ii There's nothing true but heaven !"_^ 

For what is Faith ? — a fading vine, 
When trailing 'neath the sky; 

Deception rears it for awhile, 
Then hurls it down to die ! 


And what are Hopes ? — a jewel wreath 

Encircling life's low lea ; 
And Fate oft culls the fairest gems 

To hide in Sorrow's sea ! 

And Love ? Ah, Love is but a veil 

Wrapped round a sanguine heart ; 
We dream and smile, till Time's pale hand 

Hath drawn its folds apart, 

hen wake and weep above the joys 

By falsehood darkly riven, 
And learn from cold reality, 

" There's nothing true but heaven !" 

We said farewell — oh, wilt thou keep 
My memory in thy breast ? 

And will that dear and gentle lip, 
My own so fondly pressed, 

Invoke the angels' shadowing wing- 
To guard this heart of mine ? 

That ne'er had sighed had it not clung 
To one less pure than thine : 

And when our hearts shall softly sl< 
Low in Oblivion's dell, 

Far from earth's cares we'll hope to meet, 
Nor ever say farewell. 


(Dn tju Drntji nf rtit Snfnnt 

We've laid thee down to sleep, darling, 

Amid the summer flowers ; 
The glad }^oung angels whisper us, 

Thou art no longer ours. 
We've pressed thy baby-brow, darling, 

The last, last time on earth ; 
And hushed our weary hearts to rest, 

Cherub of holier birth. 

We'll pillow thy fair infant head 

Upon our breast no more ; 
The creeping death-chill tells us now, 

Our hearts' fond dream is o'er ! 
Thy life was like a golden ray 

That trembles through the shade, 
To quiver in the lily's breast — 

Lovely, but soon to fade. 

I did not think, when first I knelt 

Beside thy cradle-bed, 
And softly laid my trembling hand 

Upon thy fair young head, 


And called thee by my name, darling, 

Gazing in thy blue eye, 
That thou so soon wouldst float away, 

A seraph, in the sky! 

Thy pathway home was bright, darling, 

With flowers and perfume ; 
The angels beckoned thee away, 

Through paths of light and bloom. 
'Tis meet that thou shouldst sleep, darling, 

On summer's fragrant breast ; 
Thy life was stainless as the flowers, 

The flowers should be thy rest. 

Why did the angels call so soon 

Our frail one to the sky? 
Why would they that a bud so fair 

So soon should fade and die ? 
We would not keep thee back, darling, 

The flowers will give thee room, 
And angels, too, will carry 

Our little lost one home. 

We would not call thee back, darling, 

To bless our hearts of love ; 
We know that thou art peacefully 

Cradled in bliss above. 
Then sweetly sleep, our darling one. 

Amid the summer flowers ; 
Rest in a Savior's arms till God 

Shall give thee back to ours. 




: The dreams fond youth in years agone had cherished, 

The hopes that wove a rainbow tissue bright — 
Are they all gone, forever gone and perished ; 

Even the last bud my silent tears had nourished ?" — D. Scott. 

I heard thy song and smiled, dearest, 

As thy sweet, loving tone, 
Trilling from out thy warm, young heart, 

Crept down into mine own, 
Weaving a chain of peaceful dreams, 

Across affection's sea, 
And thought went o'er the mystic wire, 

To dwell in love with thee. 

It is a blessed thing to know, 

To feel we have a rest 
With all the " beautiful and true," 

That crowd a guileless breast ; 


It is a joy to know, dearest, 

Thou wilt remember me ; 
I only ask to be enshrined 

In worth and purity. 

And thou wouldst weave a " rosy wreath," 
To "bind my tresses now," 
"Breathing a prayer" that darkling care 
"May ne'er o'ershade my brow?" 
Ah ! I would prize the floral gift, 

Twined by thy gentle art, 
But if it may not yet be mine, 
Oh, grant me but thy heart ! 

And would I not invoke for thee, 

My sister kind and dear, 
The brightest, best reality, 

That e'er could blossom here ? 
I know thy heart hath darkly lain 

In one long night of care, 
With scarce a bloom amid the gloom, 

For fading Hope to wear ! 

Young flowers are bending o'er his grave — 

The noble, loving, dear ; 
And soft blue eyes, from yonder skies, 

Are watching o'er thee here. 
Ah ! happier they who weep above 

Death's damp and chilly rest, 
Than those who mourn around the urn 

In Life's enclouded breast ! 


There is a rock of deeper woe 

Than death, 'neath sorrow's even ; 
And madness sings in mockery, 
" Where hearts are rent and riven !' ; 



Long years have brought thee soothing tones, 

And left the rose's hue 
Upon thy meek and smiling cheek, 

And mine is blooming too. 
Why should we not forget to weep ? 

Or weeping smile again ? 
For deepest woe that hearts can know, 

May leave no bosom stain. 

And when thou bendest o'er his grave, 

Clad with the moss of years, 
And dews distilled, and flowerets filled 

With Memory's " silent tears" — 
Eemember there is one true heart 

That warmly dreams of thee, 
And other eyes beneath the skies, 

Oft dimmed by memory. 


51 lintik. 

There is a gem, a priceless gem, 
More costly than the diadem 

That decks a kingly brow ; 
Richer than Ocean's treasured store, 
Or far Golconda's hoarded ore, 

Or Afric's mineral glow. 

There is a thread, a golden thread, 
It twines around the flowery bed 

Of loved ones, lost for aye ! 
It brightest beams when Virtues shine, 
And clings alone at Faith's pure shrine, 

To shed its changeless ray. 

That gem so rich, so pure, so rare, 
More brilliant than the diamond's glare, 

Or pearls and rubies twined, 
The high and low, alike may claim, 
In cot or hall it beams the same, 

It is a spotless Mind. 


That thread, that tiny cord of gold, 
Of changeless hue, of worth untold, 

Defying Time's mildew ; 
Is rarely found in fashion's bowers, 
'Mid reckless mirth and painted flowers — 

It is affection true. 

"Without this gem of priceless worth, 
Were one possessor of the earth, 

And called the stars their dower, 
They could not win the feeblest part 
Within my humble, pitying heart, 

With all their gilded power. 

The fairest form, the loveliest face, 

The brightest smiles of youth's sun-trace, 

Upon a blooming cheek, 
Are charmless all, without the gush 
Of light that warms the heart's calm hush, 

Which soul-lit eyes bespeak. 

Let others laud a beaming eye, 
And charms that only bloom to die, 

Like earliest buds of spring ; 
I ne'er "assent with civil leer, 
And without sneering teach to sneer " — 

Praise is a heartless thing ! 

Since fame, nor wealth, nor beauty's grace 
Can e'er assert affection's place 

Within my lowly heart, 
And since my warmest love is thine, 
It sure must be, true friend of mine, 

I know thee — As Thou Art. 


$n 3Bq Sutjin. 


Dear brother, this thy natal day 

Thou hailest with delight ; 
Sweet thoughts of future wealth and fame, 

Float o'er thy vision bright ; 
Long hast thou yearned to quit thy home, 

And win thyself a name.; 
Proudly to stand emblazoned forth, 

By the loud trump of Fame. 

Thou thinkest happiness to find, 

Amidst the busy throng, 
Who gaily clown life's current sweep, 

In folly's maze, along. 
Then go, my brother, tread the path 

Of virtue, honor, truth, 
And should temptations lure to sin, 

Eecall the scenes of youth ; 


When at our gentle mother's knee, 

We knelt in holy love, 
And craved the help and care of Him, 

Who reigns in realms above. 
If then in childish innocence, 

We prayed for heavenly aid, 
To shun the various ills of life, 

And snares by Satan laid, 

Oh ! how much more we now should strive 

To "walk in Wisdom's ways, 
Since we are nearer to the Tomb, 

Than in those blissful days. 
Then let the scenes of early youth, 

Ne'er from thy mind depart ; 
Still rest thy cares on Him who saith — 
" My son give me thy heart." 

He yet is willing to relieve, 

And shield from Satan's power ; 
Oh ! then to Him for refuge flee, 

In dark temptation's hour. 
Should wealth be freely round thee showered, 

And laurels wreath thy brow ; 
Oh ! may they not thy heart estrange 

From those thou lovest now. 

But should thy hopes and aims be lost, 

And life be dark and drear, 
Oh then, thy wandering steps retrace, 

Thou'lt still be treasured here. 


Then go, my brother — fare thee well ! 

Thrice happy be thy lot ; 
Till Death Life's silver cord divides, 

Know, thou art not forgot. 

€\t (Drpjutii. 

" The fashion of this world passeth away." — 1 Coe. vii. 31. 

" Where is thy mother ?" — once I asked 
A little fair-haired child, 
As o'er a new-made grave he strewed 

Fresh-gathered flowerets wild. 
A tiny tear stole down his cheek, 
As tremblingly he said — 
" Alas ! I have no mother now, 
My poor, dear mama's dead !" 

" Where is thy father ?" — then I asked — 
He bowed his little head, 
And pointing to a green-clad mound, 
Sobbed—" Father, too, is dead !" 


" Poor orphan boy ! is there not one 
To dry thy infant tear ? 
Hast thou no brother, sister, friend ? 
Are they, too, sleeping here ?" 

"I had a little sister, once, 
But she is buried, too ! 
See where I planted on her grave 
The little violets blue. " 
"Where is thy home ?" — he upward turned 
His childish face so fair, 
And pointing to the azure dome, 
Said he — " My home is there!" 

"Who taught thee thus, my angel boy?" 

He lisped in accents low — 
" I have a home beyond the sky, 
My mama told me so. 
And she is there, and papa, too, 

And little s'ster, dear ; 
They all have gone to that sweet home, 
And left me lonely here I" 

" And wouldst thou like to go there, too, 
My fair, and gentle boy?" 
He clasped his tiny, dimpled hands, 
And cried in childish joy — 
" Ah yes ! dear lady, I would like 
To go to that good place, 
Where I should see papa again, 
And my sweet mama's face ! 


And little baby sister, too, 

My mama said I'd see ; 
Oh! none are left but strangers here, 

To love and care for me !" 
" Sweet babe !" — I cried — " thou teachest well, 

By thy unsullied art, 
That ' wheresoe'er the treasure is, 

There, too, will be the heart.' " 

The " fashion of this world may pass," 

And all its joys decay, 
But there's a Hope immortal given, 

That ne'er shall fade away. 
And like this fair, and helpless child's, 

Thus soon of all bereft, 
There is within the saddest heart, 

A ray of gladness left. 

Though friends like shadows, fleet away, 

And fortune's favors fly, 
The gloom they leave but trims the lamp 

That lights us to the sky. 



Wake, Lady, wake, and list to me, 
While I my love unfold to thee ; 
The silver moon looks smiling down, 
And sheds her mellow rays aroun', 
And flowerets gemmed with pearly dew, 
The glowing landscape wide bestrew — 

Wake, Lady, wake ! 

Wake, Lady, wake, the soft winds sigh, 
And twinkling stars begem the sky ; 
Sweet hour for words of love to tell, 
And throw aronnd a fairy spell, 
Then, lovely Lady, list my lay, 
While night winds blow, and softly say — 
Wake, Lady, wake ! 

Sleep, Lady, sleep, my lay is o'er, 
Thy slumbers I disturb no more ; 
While Angels station round thy bed, 
And kindly guard thy gentle head, 
Sweet Lady, list my parting lay ; 
While south winds sigh and softly say — 
Sleep, Lady, sleep. 



1 '(Etniligjjt 3Coi|. 

Oh ! what a lovely world is ours, despite of all they say 
Of darkling care, and breaking hearts, of changes and decay ! 
Awake ! awake, my silent harp ! pour forth thy sweetest song, 
While faintest gleams of rosy light streak the far west along ; 
While from his bed yon blushing orb peeps at departing day, 
Ere yet he steals his glittering train from earth's green breast away ; 
Lo ! how the monarch drops his head behind yon fleecy cloud, 
That wraps him in its soft white folds, so like a silver shroud ! 
And see the arrowy, golden shafts that stream athwart the sky, 
Tinging each little cloudlet fair that spreads its sails on high ; 
How beautiful the glowing track where meteors nightly tread, 
When purple curtains fringed with gold, fall round the day-god's 

I've watched the stars, the bright young stars, that all so gently 

Out, one by one, along the track where Day's king sank to sleep, 
Until methought the little gems were but the foot-prints bright, 
Of angel ones that kindly walk the broad blue belt of Night, 
To guard this slumbering world of ours, from Heaven's starry crest, 
And hang a thousand lamps in air to cheer its darkened breast, 


But far, far o'er the leafy trees, see yonder city's site, 

Round which the mist is fluttering down on the cool wings of 

Night ; 
See how it curls in wreaths around that city's muffled din, 
Where thousands hide beneath its veil full many a deed of sin ! 
But here, here on this rural spot beneath these trailing vines, 
Away from its care-laden heart, with naught but fragrant winds, 
To echo back the feeble strain, I strike my humble lay, 
To sing to Nature's loveliness, by twilight's melting ray. 
Oh ! for a rare poetic gift, to touch this trembling string, 
That through the heart of this cool shade might lasting echoes 

Wide o'er this mount of vivid green and wreathing far away, 
Where crested wavelets dimple in the twilight's fading ray ; 
See how they wanton on the breast of yonder molten tide, 
Whose clear, cool waters eddy on along its mossy side ; 
And o'er the blue stream's laughing wave and stretching wide 

See how the fresh green hills spread out in daylight's lingering 

Their misty brows, in dusky light uprearing smooth and high, 
As if to claim communion with the over-arching sky. 

Ah ! never from my secret heart will fade this lovely hour, 
Though ne'er again my eye may watch the dew-drop in a flower 
That opes its tiny infant eye within this mountain shade, 
Or linger o'er the dew-sprent wild of yonder tangled glade; 
These dewy leaves and blushing flowers must all soon fade away, 
And Autumn winds with mournful tread, amid their paleness stray ; 
Then Winter with his icy breath will shriek in mockery by, 
And fold his snow-white sheet around poor Nature's closing eye ; 


But when the ruddy Spring shall come with roses red and gay, 
And leaves of green unfold again, I may be far away ; 
But when within the sunny breast of my glad childhood's home, 
Whene'er its sweet and lovely scenes with joyous heart I roam, 
If in my soul rare beauties wake fond Memory's airy pinion, 
'Twill whisper of a sunset scene within the " Old Dominion ! " 


Bright flowers ! the perfume of Aurora 

Lingers on thy richly tinted leaflets, 

And the liquid pearl drops, gently shaken 

From off the tresses dark of peaceful Night, 

Nestle, glowing in its prismatic splendor, 

In the golden beams of ruddy Morning, 

Amid thy clustering cups. The brilliant rays 

Of Cynthia's successor, flash and sparkle 

From out each pure, fresh drop from Heaven's crest, 

As if to kiss them back to ether's blue. 

No whisper steals up from thy dewy leaves, 

To my lone heart, and yet thou hast a voice, 


A still, a silent voice, that speaks to me 

In song more pure, more sweet, than mortal tones ; 

Thou breathest of Love and stainless Purity, 

Eternal Truth and frail Mortality. 

Love ! earthly love ? — nay, nay, too true thy voice, 

To breathe of aught stained with the dust of Time. 

Thou teachest Love for the omnific Power 

Whose pencil decked each varied leaf that glows 

Upon thy fragile stem. The spotless bloom 

Of Purity, how lovely and how fair ; 

Bright emblem of a true and holy heart — 

Ah ! well I love the snowy bud, that bears 

No tint to typify life's soils. Give me 

A fair, unsullied bloom, amid whose leaves 

Lies folded up a fragrance like the breath 

That floods the dewy vale, where angels stray, 

To woo my silent heart to dreams of Heaven ! 

Truth circles every gem from Nature's crown, 

Since God hath said " Spring-time shall never fail." 

Each slender bud that bursts its emerald case, 

Expanding to the clear sunlight of heaven, 

Bespeaks His truth, who wreaths young Nature's brow. 

Sweet Flowers ! more frail e'en than the infant hand 
That culled ye 'mid the morning dew, thou art ! 
Fair, lovely boy ! how like an angel bright — 
If earthly, aught to Heaven, may be compared — 
Thy cherub form among the blooming flowers, 
Ere yet the tears from Night's deep eye had dried ; 
Thy tiny, dimpled hand, soft gathering 
The Symbols of thine own sweet innocence ; 


The fresh, cool breath, of morn slow stealing through 
Thy sunny, waving curls, imprinting on 
Thy smiling cheek its balmy kiss — but say, 
Fair boy, did no dark thorn obstruct or mar 
Thy flowery way ? Ah me ! that little hand 
May not always cull thornless buds and flowers I 
Thorns, bitter thorns, in Life's pathway, inclose 
Each blossom in, and e'er the piercing points 
Thou must obtain the bloom ! But, gentle boy, 
May He who watches o'er thy helplessness, 
Be e'er thy shield through this world-wilderness, 
When childhood's purity Time sweeps away ! 
And when the slender cords of frail Mortality, 
Shall sunder rend, beneath the crush of Death, 
May Immortality ope, to thy view, 
The pearly gate, far up through ether's blue, 
Where stainless, thornless flowers ne'er fade or die ! 




iHigljta nl lattrtf, 

I mused — and young Fancy on pinions all "bright, 
Winged away from this earth to a land of delight ; 
Through the blue distant ether it waved its soft plume, 
And floated on gales of ambrosial perfume, 
To the goal of the Eansomed, where bright Angels stand, 
To hail weary Pilgrims to that happy land. 

'Twas a vision of beauty that raptured its sight, 

As its pinions dipped in the eternal flood-light 

Of glory that circled that radiant scene, 

"Where flowers bloom endless 'mid sunshine and sheen, 

And the rich songs of seraphs unceasingly rise 

In soft choral symphonies flooding the skies. 

A halo of glory hung around the star-throne 
Of God the Eternal — the Triune in One, 
And Angel hands swept the mellifluous lyre, 
Whose golden cords, tempered in celestial fire, 
Broke up, in glad numbers the harmony-strain — 
"Be glory for aye, to the Lamb that was slain?" 


Each, serapli that glowed in the sunlight of glory, 
With quivering wings wafted on the glad story, ^^^ 
And pure Angels veiled their bright faces the while, 
Bowed low at the Throne, 'neath the bliss of His smile, 
And the host of Eedeemed cast their crowns at His feet, 
Shouting — "Blessing and honor and power are meet!" 

The hills were all blooming, all cloudless the skies, 
And fragrant each breeze that o'erswept Paradise, 
And lingered in murmurs angelic and low, 
'Mid the bright buds and blossoms that tremble and glow 
On the green sunny banks of the soft silver stream, 
Where the Tree of Life waves o'er the shadowless gleam. 

At the portals of Heaven, swift Thought wandered back, 
And lingered awhile o'er Life's wearisome track, 
And saw, as it gazed on this Earth's darkened lea — 
That seemed but a bubble on Time's heaving sea — 
How pale were the beauties that clustered its breast, 
When viewed from the verge of Eternity's Best. 

Young Fancy winged back from her far upward flight. 
With a star-gem bedecking her forehead of light, 
And I thought, as I gazed on her beautiful brow — 
Like a pearl-blossom smiling in twilight's soft glow — 
If Fancy can weave such a marvelous story, 
Oh ! what is the SouV s full fruition in Glory / 







€ij? gtrnngrr f 30jjisjm, 


Why weepest thou, pale mourner, 

Above the early dead? 
Why falls the bitter emblem 

Upon that lowly bed ? 
'Twas God who called her spirit 

To join the heavenly choir — 
In yon bright sphere celestial, 

She tunes her golden lyre? 

Hope on, nor sorrow darkly 

O'er Heaven's stern decree; 
Time, that restores Earth's blossoms, 

May twine a wreath for thee. 
Eepress the sighs of anguish, 

That swell thy lonely breast, 
For one now safely numbered 

Among the early blest. 


Life's way is wide before thee, 

Go trace its path alone ; 
Look wisely to the future, 

Nor sigh o'er blessings flown. 
Youth's sunny light gleams o'er thee, 

Dispelling hovering gloom ; 
Go, in its dawn, and gather 

The buds of endless bloom. 

Though crushed Love's early blossoms, 

By Death's relentless hand, 
The buds of Faith will ever, 

Its wintry breath withstand. 
Then sorrow not, pale mourner, 

But calmly stem Life's sea. 
Till landed o'er its billows, where 

Thy loved one waits for thee. 




Sad Memory's minions were hovering round me, 
Ere slumber's soft chain in its coils had bound me, 
When on the sweet zephyr of Night, borne aloft, 
Were the notes of the Minstrels, harmoniously soft. 

Like the dew-drops that glow in the lily-bud's breast, 
Or a bright orb that sparkles in night's sombre vest, 
Was the radiance that circled around my lone heart, 
Bidding Memory's hovering minions depart. 

Like the sweetness that hangs o'er the blue moonlit sea, 
Were the notes of wild music melodious and free, 
And they stole o'er the senses with soothing delight, 
Borne on the soft winds of the young "stilly night." 

Dark visions of sadness — lone Memory's train — 
Fled 'fore the night-minstrels' mellifluous strain ; 
Like the summer's warm breath o'er a violet bed, 
On the heart's drooping tendrils its gladness was shed. 


(Print last na^me first) 




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Oil ! thus thought I then, like the cares of this day, 
When the cold night of Death bears our spirit away, 
May we lose, in the Heavenly Minstrels' glad strain, 
The visions that ever make Memory's train ! 

Slitas in tjp $mui nf €twftxmn. 

On, ye heroes! — "heaven-born band," 
Noble sons of Freedom's land ! 
Proudly o'er a conquered World, 
Be thy glorious flag unfurled ! 

May the sceptre of thy sway 
Brightly glance in "Victory's ray ! 
Cleave the Spoiler's thralldom chain, 
By thy mighty power, in twain ! 

Deal destruction on the Foe, 
Lay his vaunting army low ! 
May thy planted Standard wave 
Proudly o'er the fallen Slave ! 


■ On to Victory ! — on to Fame ! 
Glory's golden chaplet claim ; 
Garlands gemmed with fragrant dew, 
Thy ennobling way bestrew ! 

Kend the sable veil of Care, 
"Woven hj the Tempter's snare ; 
Light the Victims' darkened way — 
Wile them from their haunts away. 

May the thunder of thy voice 
Echo to each heart "Rejoice!'" 
Beams triumphant o'er ye dance, 
Noble "Sons of Temperance 1" 


Thou'lt not forget me — that young heart 
Is far too pure for me to doubt 
Its perfect truth. I know that thou 
Art true ; for I have scanned each word 
And look, and fathomed that young heart 
Even to its lowest depths. No fount 

ANNIE. 269 

Can be corrupt, from whence doth gush 

So sweetly pure a stream of high 

And holy thought, that like a rill 

Of crystal water, gushing clear, 

From a perennial source, flows on 

In babbling transport, sparkling fair, 

A bright translucent stream, whose spray 

Like snow-wreaths, bathes each drooping bud 

That stoops to kiss its surface. 

Thou'lt not forget me — ah ! I know 

That gentle voice will whisper oft 

My name, and that soft beaming eye 

Perchance will swim in dewy light, 

As o'er the sunny past, the chain 

Of Memory, fond, is flung. Thou'lt roam 

The halcyon scenes of yore, where we 

Together oft have strayed, and then 

Thou'lt think of her who ne'er again 

May linger near thee ! Ah ! 'tis sad 

To think we ne'er again on Earth 

May meet ; but oh ! how sweet to hope 

We'll one day meet 'mid fairer scenes, 

TVhere Friendship's chain shall ne'er be riven ! 


3 Xotn ۤn Inf. 

I loye tliee not, although, thou art 

As beautiful and bright 
As yon sweet star that sparkles through 

The sombre veil of night. 
I met thee when thy soft dark eyes 

Were languishing with care, 
And loved thee when thy qui v 'ring lips 

Breathed out a whispered prayer — 

That God would shield thy youthful head. 

And guard thy lonely way 
Through this dark wilderness of woe, 

To Life's Eternal Day ! 
I sought to turn thy weary thoughts 

To Hope's sunlight and joy, 
Lest chilling frosts' untimely blight, 

Should Heaven's fair work destro} r . 

I wooed thee when the light of Love 

Was beaming on thy broAV, 
And wreathed in smiles thy lips as sweet 

As those that light them now. 


I won thee when none other came 

To cheer thy saddened heart, 
And dreamed I'd won a priceless gem, 

Whose worth would ne'er depart ! 

Vain hope ! — a gayer rival came, 

And dimmed the ardent glow 
That lighted up my heart with joys 

It ne'er again can know ! 
Since Truth hath fled thy once pure breast, 

Now stained by Treachery's blot — 
Although with radiant beauty blest, 

False one — / love thee not ! 

<rijr fBoimr'i ligli. 

Oh ! take me to my childhood's home ! 

I pine in sadness here ; 
Again in gladness let me roam 

The scenes to Memory dear ! 
In vain the flowerets here are bright, 

In vain fair Nature smiles ; 
All brightness fades in sorrow's night, 

Amid its sweetest wiles ! 


Oh ! take me to my childhood's home ! 

To friends and kindred dear ; 
My heart grows faint at days to come, 

If lingering lonely here ! 
I'he brightest skies, the sweetest flowers, 

The murmuring streamlet fair, 
Have all here lost the soothing powers, 

That lulled my spirit there ! 

Oh ! take me to my childhood's home ! 

I long to breathe the air 
That floats around that sacred dome, 

And hovers ever there. 
On eagles' pinions let me fly, 

And 'mid its sweetness roam ! 
And let me breathe my latest sigh 

Within my childhood's home ! 



Thou comest from a loving one, 

Aznre Violet meek, 
And with music sweet and low, 

Seemest thou to speak, 
Of a dear and gentle girl, 

Ear, far, away, 
Bending o'er thee in the light 

Of pale Autumn's ray ; 

Watching thee with eyes of love, 

In her Northern bower, 
Smiling on thy dewy leaves, 

Modest little flower. 
Thou art welcome, tiny one, 

To this home of mine, 
From my full heart let me pour 

Love's own wealth to thine. 


Welcome as a golden gleam 

Gushing from the skies, 
"With thy silken, azure leaves 

Folded up in dyes. 
Soft perfume hast breathed for her, 

Lovely blossom, thou, 
Lifting up thy infant head, 

To her beaming brow. 

With her dark eye bent to thine, 

Looking in its blue, 
Thou hast mirrored her love-smile 

In thy bosom's dew. 
And for me, my own, for me, 

She hath nursed thy form, 
Kindly shielding thy pale heart, 

Through Autumn's chill and storm. 

And though we have never met, 

Save in heart and though f, 
Comest thou to me, meek one, 

With affection fraught. 
I will treasure thee, fair flower, 

Through Life's little day, 
For the sake of a dear one 

Far, far, away. 

affection's tribute. 275 

Slffntinit's $rtinth. 



IIk was weary, let liim rest 
In the green earth's peaceful breast ; 
Strew above him fading flowers, 
Emblem of Life's transient hours; 
All his earthly griefs are o'er, 
Loved and loving weep no more. 

He was weary for her sake, 
Whose dear voice could ne'er more wake 
Love's most light and gladsome thrill, 
In that heart so cold and still, 
Mouldering in a stranger land, 
Shrouded by a stranger hand ! 

Angels carried her above, 

From his home and heart of love, 

And he sought in scenes afar, 

To relume life's waning star ; 

Yet, ah ! soon, that bosom breaking, 

Slept the sleep that knows no waking ! 


Who can read the soul's wild sigh, 
Trembling in a stranger eye ? 
Who can know the broken dart, 
Eankling in a stranger heart? ' 
Eecked they not who smoothed his rest, 
All the woes of that fond breast ! 

He was weary — shall we weep 
O'er a broken heart's soft sleep ? 
Cease fond nature, hush thy sighs 
Angels call him to the skies ; 
Hark ! the choral anthems swell — 
" All is well— all is well I" 

£ Cull fur long. 

Why dont you sing ? We've waited long, 
To hear again thy poet-song ; 
The summer is the time, you know, 
When wild bird-notes most sweetly flow ; 
Too long thy harp hath silent lain, 
Sweet sister, tune its cords again, 


Nor let thy lute neglected lie, 
When sea and air and earth and sky 
Are radiant with the spirit part 
Of beauty that must thrill thy heart. 
I wonder how you can control 
The gushings of a poet-soul — 
Fond rover of unresting- wing - — 
That only lives to love and sing — 
That finds a beauty everywhere, 
And tells the heart of all things fair ! 

It cannot be, from thy full soul 
The spirit's melody hath stole 
To swell in solitude unheard, 
Like the sweet song of forest bird ? 
Come, dearest, earth is not so gay, 
That it may lose a single ray ; 
Unlock the fountain of thy heart, 
And let its prisoned streamlet start ; 
The world is bright and free and fair ; 
And } T outh was never meant for care ; 
Let not thy lute in silence lie, 
Lor poet-hearts must sing or sigh ! 

278 HE ART- DEO PS. 

jCnin 3B«tjr. 

Love mucli the bright-hued flowers, fair child, 

Although ere long they'll fade ; 
Love much the blooms and warblers wild, 

The heart to love was made. 
The lovely things that smile to-day, 

May fade mid winter's gloom, 
But others bright and fair as they, 

Will spring above their tomb ; 
Think not of future chill and blast, 

But love earth's. beauties while they last, 

Love much, fond mother, the sweet boy 

That nestles on thy breast ; 
The angel Death may mar thy joy, 

With his cold signet pressed 
Upon that pure and sinless face, 

But God to thee hath given 
The gem — perchance through it thou'lt grace 

The diadem of Heaven ; 
Love much — though he you love may die, 

That love will link thee to the sky. 

stranger's album. 279 

Love much, love much, oh maiden fair, 

Though all things change and fade ; 
Life without Love were deeper care, 

Even than Love betrayed. 
Affection's spirit-vine may part, 

And droop and fall away, 
But there's a germ within the heart, 

That ne'er can know decay. 
Love much — the soul's immortal worth 

Must test its infant wings on Earth ! 



In days to come when these pure leaflets wear 
Full many a kindly wish and whispered prayer, 
Each richly laden page thou'lt softly turn, 
And sigh, perchance, around fond Memory's urn. 

Fair Friendship, here, shall drop a lovely gem, 
Culled from her glittering, golden diadem, 
And smiling Love will leave a blossom there, 
So softly gathered from the heart's parterre ; 

280 H E ART I;KOPS. 

Sweet Hope, with, light and music-flutterings, 
Will gather up her bright and sunny wings, 
And on some silken leaf, with murmurs free, 
Pour forth her glad and gushing song for thee ; 
And Innocence with meek and modest eye, 
Shall fling the fragrance of her balmy sigh, 
Up-gushing from a heart of purity, 
Into one little line — "Remember Me!" 

I know not if thy heart be sad or light, 

I know not if thine eye be dim or bright, 

But when Remembrance wakes in coming hours, 

And lingers, dreamy, o'er these pearls and flowers, 

Turn, thou, to this last leaf, with silent art, 

And read the tribute of a Stranger's heart. 

If in thine eye, whene'er it bendeth here, 

Should glisten Sorrow's sad and darkling tear — 

If on thy brow a shade should dimly rest, 

And weary thoughts becloud thy restless breast, 

Know thou, could she whose earnest thoughts you trace, 

The shadow from thy heart and brow efface, 

So full and free her soul that naught of grief 

Would ever bend with thee o'er this last leaf. 

Yet would I trace a worthier line, Carrie, 

The Stranger bears a holier wish for thee ; 

'Tis not of Earth or earthly joys she'd sing, 

That ne'er could wake her harp's most cherished string ; 

But when Life's blossoms fade and droop and die, 

May lovelier bloom for thee beyond the sky ! 


^is, 3 mill ling. 

Yes, I will sing, and yet this heart 

Is all too sad for song ; 
Moments there are when mockery 

Peals from the laughing throng. 
You do not know, you cannot tell 

How lips may sing and smile, 
How brightly bloom the youthful cheek, 

Yet break the heart the while ! 

Yes, I will sing — yet chide me not 

Because my song is low ; 
Memories there are about my heart, 

That freeze its gladsome flow ! 
You cannot paint the glow of joy 

Upon a breaking heart, 
Nor calm its weary thoughts to rest, 

With fond, endearing art 

Feelings there are that must defy 
Affection's blessed tone ; 

The lip may answer to its love, 
The heart be all alone I 


Then let me sing — but do not chide 
My low and pensive lay, 

For tears have swept the joyous wreath 
From this sad heart away I 

Biifrnigjlt Busings. 

Lsr vain ! in vain ! what anguish in the feeling 
That spreads around the bosom's silent fane I 

To watch and hope, yet feel the whisper stealing 
Down to the waiting heart — in vain ! in vain I 

Where shall we fly to still the soul's wild shiver, 
When hoping spirits fold their lovely wings 

Amid the ruins of heart-hopes, that quiver 
When Disappointment's icy finger flings — 

Its shading mantle o'er their living brightness ? 

Shrouding their beauty from the soul's young eye, 
Chilling the dew that glowed in warmth and lightness, 

On fairest buds that only bloomed to die ! 

Ah 1 let me gather from this bosom's keeping, 

Anticipation's jewels clustered there, 
And waken up the hopes so sweetly sleeping 

Behind the drapery of a lurking care! 


It is not much the world, with all its seeming, 
Can give to soothe the weary, longing mind ; 

The hopes, the joys that freight its wildest dreaming, 
Fade in their youth and leave a pang behind ! 

The ones we love and in our beings cherish, 
Whose memory weaves a rainbow in our breast, 

How soon, how very soon, grow cold or perish ; 

"And truest friends through error wound our rest!" 

Drfointtnrij 33 if ma. 



Oh ! God of glory, here we raise, 

To Thee, a house of prayer and praise ; 

Within it, Lord, appear ! 
Bend from thine everlasting throne, 
To consecrate it for thine own, 

And seal thy Spirit here ! 

When from its altar shall arise 
Joint supplications to the skies, 

Unveil thy smiling face, 
And sweetly, from thy radiant throne, 
On waiting wings of love, send down 

The riches of thy grace ! 


When here thine own anointed stand, 
Strengthen their hearts with thy strong hand, 

Thy greatness to proclaim ; 
Teach them to speak what thou shalt say, 
Give thy great Truth controlling sway, 

And magnify thy name ! 

Sovereign of Heaven's resplendent sphere, 
Be thou our guard and glory here, 

Until our longing eyes 
Shall open, at Thy blest commands, 
Within "a house not made with hands," 

Eternal in the skies ! 

Dn #n-n Ulrmtmlur? 

Do you remember the cottage, dear Kate, 

That stood on the emerald lawn, 
Where we sported away young life's sunny day, 

In the brilliance of hours agone ? 
The sweet little cottage still smiles o'er the lea, 

All its beauties are blossoming fair — 
The vine-trellised bowers that sheltered youth's hours, 

But none who once loved us are there ! 


Do you Bemember the wildwood, dear Kate, 

The wild wood where sweet waters play ? 
We smiled with delight on its beauties so bright, 

In the j^ears that have "passed away." 
The waters sweep on in its purpling shade, 

As sweet as in days "long ago," 
But ah ! nevermore, with the lightness of yore, 

Shall we list to their murmuring flow ! 

Do you Remember the churchyard, dear Kate, 

Where blossomed the box- vine and rose, 
Where we trembled in fear round the sable- veiled bier, 

And wept o'er Death's silent repose ? 
The roses bloom on in that stilly abode, 

Where Memory her vigils is keeping ; 
But no more may we stand on that far-away land, 

Where some who once loved us are sleeping ! 

Do you remember the bright hopes, dear Kate, 

That gilded our girlhood's sweet dreams, 
When low whispered vows left the flush on our brows, 

And folded our hearts in their gleams ? 
Ah ! shall we e'er cherish such visions again, 

As glowed in life's earlier ray, 
Or smile with delight on new beauties as bright, 

As those that have faded away ! 



(inscribed to mt mother.) 

Had we but met once more, sister, 

Oh ! had I been but by, 
To kneel beside thy lovely form, 

To see thee fade and die — 
Oh ! could I but have heard once more, 

That voice so soft and dear, 
The lonely grave were far less lone, 

The dreary world less drear ! 

Oh ! had we met once more, sister, 

Before the angel Death 
Came softly from yon starry world, 

And kissed away thy breath ; 
It were deep bliss to treasure up 

Thy last sweet smile of love, 
And feel the same unshadowed light 

Was beaming from above. 

The same unshadowed light — it beams 
Down from thy far bright home, 

It breaks upon my weary heart, 
And gilds thy early tomb, 

LINES. 287 

Thy early tomb ! where gentle flowers — 

Love's last pure offering — 
When summer sunshine comes again, 

In soft perfume shall spring. 

Ah yes, the flowers you so well loved, 

Ere long will dewy wave, 
And waft their incense offering 

Around thy slender grave ! 
The grave ! the grave ! soft be thy rest 

Within its dusky fane ; 
Sweet be that wasted form's repose, 

Whose memory wears no stain ! 

Thy life was like a peaceful dove's, 

None knew thee but to prize, 
And faded out thy heart's young bloom, 

As the sweet floweret dies. 
Could we but meet once more, sister, 

Thy white, thin cheek would wear 
A deeper, purer print of faith, 

Than ever lingered there. 

Thy chair stands vacant round the hearth, 

And many an eye is dim, 
As on the twilight's deepening wing, 

Swells up the evening hymn. 
Thou blessed one ! why do we weep 

O'er Memory's living train ; 
Thank God ! thy angel whisper says — 
" Bear on, we'll meet again ! " 



Pale messenger from stranger hands ! 

Thou bearest in thy glossy folds, 

A mystery so deeply strange, 

I scarce can welcome thee ! And yet 

There is a sadness in thy silent voice, 

That waketh in my trembling soul, 

A kindly sympathy, and sendeth back 

A gush of feeling to my heart, 

That floodeth mem'ry with its deep. 

Thou tellest me of broken hopes 

And faded joys, that ne'er again 

May bloom on Love's Death-blighted stem ! 

An answering echo in the heart 

Thou speakest to, with thy strange breath, 

Floats on to him who fettereth 

My ever wakeful sense, through thee. 

I cannot, would not turn away 

From thy still voice, thou pale unknown, 

But trace upon thy silken leaf, 

One little line — go bear to him 

Thy burden — It is given. 

"she is not dead, but sleepeth." 289 

"#jj* is tint SJtfli, knt #l^^utl^ ,, 

She is gone from the bosom where oft she hath nestled, 

To Love's soothing whispers on time's heaving wave ; 
No storms, with which oft her young spirit hath wrestled, 

Can wake o'er her now in the hush of the grave. 
Then weep not for her, though no more the low thrillings 

Of once music- breathings shall gladden thine ear; 
The bud early blighted by Death's dark distillings, 

Still bloometh o'er Jordan more sweetly than here. 

She is gone from the brightness of infancy's smiling, 

That shed round her pathway a halo of light, 
To the damp, vaulted tomb, where no star is beguiling 

The shadows that spread o'er its lone rayless night ! 
Yet weep not for her — in its darkness reposing, 

Calm resteth that hushed heart, from care-peltings free, 
While to her bright spirit rich joys are disclosing, 

Above the blue concave that bendeth o'er thee. 

She is gone from the home-hearth, where oft her soft footfall, 
Kesounded in gladness, like whispers of eve, 

Where the mildew that gathers 'neath Death's gloomy pall, 
Hangs damply around in the dusk of the grave ! 


Yet weep not for her — though her form lies enshrouded, 
Her ransomed young spirit roams gladsome on high ; 

Wide o'er the broad plains, ever bright and unclouded, 
Behind the deep veil of the far, bending sky ! 

The spring-time hath come with its buds and its flowers, 

To deck thy sweet cottage of sunlight and shade, 
But far, far she roams from its roseate bowers, 

Where blossoms ne'er scatter and leaflets ne'er fade. 
The roses may bud in Love's once blooming Eden, 

Where the canker-worm feeds on its loveliest bloom, 
But hushed is the voice that shall never more gladden 

The vine-wreathing scenes of thy desolate home! 

The sweet notes of childhood may float on as gladly 

As when her warm bosom rang back the rich strain ; 
But ah ! 'mid its gushings, the thought cometh sadly — 

Her smilings shall never commingle again ! 
Yet weep not for her, as thy cherubs sport round thee, 

Or lisp her dear name to thy sorrowing ear ; 
Bear on 'neath the shatters of hopes that once bound thee, 

And feel, in their twining, her spirit still near. 

Chide not, in thy anguish, the Hand that hath riven 

This brightest star-gem from thy life- wreathing chain ; 
She was but a gem only lent thee, not given, 

Which God, in his wisdom, hath taken again. 
Then mourn not for her, who in life's early morning, 

Hath crossed over Jordan to Canaan's fair lea ; 
Hope on and veil sorrow in Heaven's blue awning, 

Where her angel spirit now waiteth for thee ! 


€§i €imt in Dh. 

When is the time to die ? 
When Winter folds his snowy shroud 
Bound Nature's drooping form, and loud 

The bitter blast shrieks by ? 

Is then the time to die ? 

When ruddy Spring's blue eye 
Peeps out from whispering leaves and flowers, 
And bathes her cheek in vernal showers ; 

When silver dews defy 

The wings of night her locks to dry, 

Is then the time to die? 

When Summer's breath floats by, 

Laden with fragrance from the rose's heart, 
Fanning the flushed brow of the sultry mart 

With its cool kiss, and song 

From sylvan shadows floats along 
On each disporting breath, 
Is this the time for death ? 


When Autumn's pensive sigh. 

Stirs the brown leaf, that trembling lies, 

In fading gold and crimson dyes ; 

"When purple violets fade, 

With all the blossoms of the wildwood's shade — 
When Nature veils her once glad eye, 
Then is the time to die. 

To die ! to " pass away " 

With summer's beauties on sweet Autumn's breast — 
To fall with tinted leaves to quiet rest ; 

To sink to night's decay ! 

To rise to endless Day ! 

IB if d&arltf Tnm. 

In the sweet sunny South stands the home of my youth, 
Where first I was taught to love virtue and truth ; 
There the wild-rose and lily their fragrance unite, 
Untouched by the frost or cold winter's dark blight ; 
The cool, shady bowers, inviting appear, 
And low singing waters the pensive ear cheer ; 


Oh ! lovely the scenes of my infancy's home, 
And oft through the vista my lonely thoughts roam, 
And hover around that dear, sacred spot, 
That distance nor time can from Memory blot ! 

Still, still can I picture the dark, waving pines, 
The moss-covered seat 'neath the clustering vines, 
Where oft I reclined in the morning of life, 
When Hope laughed before me, and pleasure was rife 
By the sweetness of twilight that lingered around, 
And music that wakened the stillness profound, 
Oh ! dear the remembrance of that blessed spot, 
And ne'er can its beauties through life be forgot ! 

Again do I hear the soft notes of the dove, 

As she mournfully cooed in the shadowy grove ; 

The robin that sang in the poplar at morn — 

The soft winds that sighed through the tall, waving corn — 

The garden, the meadow, the rural retreat, 

The deep, winding valleys where sweet waters meet — 

The dark shady woodlands where violets blow, 

All, all are before me, as in years " long ago !" 

Oh ! take me again to that happy land. 

Where linnets and nightingales sing in a band ; 

Let me visit again my infancy's home, 

And careless and free, through its wild forests roam ; 

And the friends of my childhood, that change can ne'er know, 

Let me greet them again as in days long ago, 

When we held sweet communion on that hallowed spot, 

That naught but Death ever from Mem'ry will blot. 


ft €xiHtt\ 

She was thine — the link is broken, 

Low she sleeps beneath, the sod ; 
He, who gave her thee, hath spoken 

Back her spirit to its God. 
She was thine — a bud from Heaven, 

Sent to bless Life's thorny stem ; 
But in wisdom he hath riven 

From thy heart, His love lent gem ! 

Bear on, mother, life is fleeting 
As the early floweret's bloom, 

And thy heart is lowly beating 
" Funeral marches to the tomb !" 

Hope on — soon from grief and sadness, 
Thou shalt wing away, to dwell 

In a world of endless gladness, 

Where loved ones ne'er say farewell I 


lUnnntbr Mi, 

When morn in youthful beauty breaks 
And silvers o'er the tranquil lakes, 
To hope and love thy mind awakes, 
Remember me. 

When twilight falls o'er lawn and lea, 
And shadows o'er the dark blue sea, 
And words of love are whispered thee, 
Remember me. 

Should joys unspeakable be thine, 
And radiant gleams of pleasure shine, 
Around thy way where roses twine, 
Forget not me. 

Should sorrow cloud thy coming years, 
And bathe thy prospects all in tears, 
When no kind voice of friendship cheers, 
Then think of me. 

For should we never meet again, 
Till far beyond the reach of pain, 
Yet while affection doth remain, 
I'll think of thee/ 


dDjl, Ut u Mnn Bint Igititr! 

"Oh, let us never meet again!" 

Thou saidst in days of yore ; 
'Tis well, 'tis wise, nor was it vain — 

We'll meet on eaeth no more. 
I ne'er again shall "seek to cheer 

With hope, thy aching heart;" 
Since Faith hath fled and left thee drear, 

'Twould baffle "soothing art." 

"Oh, let us never meet again !" 

My lonely ear comes o'er, 
In tones that call forth Memory's train, 

"Which says — will meet no more. 
No more my idol, yet still dear, 

Thy happiness will be, 
And prayers ascend from one who ne'er, 

Thy once loved form shall see. 

" Oh, let us never meet again !" 
I hear its thrillings yet ; 
The tones of woe that swelled the strain, 
/ never can forget ! 

to . 297 

I ne'er shall " shun the festive hall 

Lest I should weep for thee — " 
Not (: cold forgetfulness," I call, 

For thou'rt no more to me. 

" Oh ! let us never meet again !" 

Eespond my lips to thine, 
Since thy "proud, wounded soul 'twould pain," 

And add no joy to mine. 
And though my heart once sank in woe, 

To hear this broken strain, 
Far more 'twould tremble now to know, 

We'll meet on Earth again ! 


I love thee not as others love, 
For Beauty, Wealth, or Fame ; 

No ! purer thoughts, by Virtue wove, 
Engender at thy name. 

For what is Beauty ? — paltry gift, 
Without a lovely mind ; 

Like to a rose of sweets bereft- 
Void as the empty wind. 


And what is "Wealth ? — a fleeting toy, 

That dazzles with its glare ; 
It brings no peace, it gives no joy, 

Nor e'en dispells " dull care " 
And Fame ? — what is it but a sound, 

That echoes for a day ? 
Soon 'neath contempt's dark surface drowned, 

Or idly borne away ! 

Oh ! think not thou, that / could love, 

Where these alone were found ; 
In fancy free I e'er should rove, 

By naught but FriendsJivp bound. 
But ah ! thy noble, virtuous soul, 

Has fettered " fancy free ;" 
And whilst the wheels of Time shall roll, 

'Twill link my heart to thee. 

"Itfjjabnn 33, 33 ftigjjt," 

(to my beloved mother.) 

Cheer up, Mother ! look not sadly, 
Life hath thorns as well as flowers ; 

The morrow's sun may shine more gladly ; 
'Tis at dawn the darkest hours ! 

"WHATEVER is is right." 299 

Cheer up, Mother ! think but lightly 

Of the ills that crowd Life's ways ; 
Hope's sweet orb may beam more brightly, 

After these tempestuous days. 

Droop not, then, in sadness pining — 

Mother dear ! away with care ! 
While fond hearts are round thee twining, 

Dearest Mother, ne'er despair. 
Life can never be all sadness, 

While fond, faithful hearts are ours ; 
One bright star gives light and gladness, 

When night's sable curtain lowers. 

Earth has many pleasant places, 

Look not on its darkest side ; 
See ! the hand of wisdom traces — 

" Trust in God, whate'er betide." 
Death, life's dearest cords may sever — 

Falsehood dim earth's sweetest light — 
Fortune fail — but think thou, ever, 
" Whatsover is, is right." 


Fare tliee well ! naught now can gladden 

This poor heart of thee bereft ! 
Only dark despair, to madden, 

In my bosom, thou hast left ! 
Oh ! how couldst thou crush forever, 

One who only lived in thee ; 
Bid earth's brightest blossoms wither, 

Never more to bloom for me ! 

Would that Death, Life's chain had severed, 

Ere thy heart Distrust had known ! 
Ere the rose of Hope had withered, 

Or thy Faith had falsely grown ! 
Mayst thou never know the anguish 

Thou hast sown within my breast ; 
Though from thee I weep and languish, 

Oh ! mayst thou be ever blest. 

Far too well I ever loved thee, 

Far too well I love thee still ; 
Wretched though thy wrongs have made me, 

/ can never wish thee ill I 

THE heart's farewell. 301 

Fare thee well ! may joy and gladness, 

O'er thy brow their radiance fling ; 
Never may pale Grief and sadness, 

To thy heart Remembrance bring ! 

€')t imt's /annull. 

Farewell to the home of my childhood's sweet hours, 
The roses and lilies, and youth's sunny bowers; 
Farewell ! I now leave thee in sorrow to roam, 
Far, far, from thy bosom, my own happy home ! 

Farewell to the scenery of childish delight ! 

May thy woodbines and jessamines never know blight ! 

Farewell, little warblers ! — ye'll still be as dear, 

As when in life's morning I welcomed ye here. 

Farewell, little fountain, where oft in past days, 
Reflected the image of infancy's gaze ; 
I knew not while watching thy sparkles at play, 
That all earthly pleasures were fleeting as they ! 


Farewell, native woodlands ! thy shadows so deep, 
"Will steal o'er my waking and haunt me in sleep ! 
Thy lovely wild flowers and valleys so sweet, 
Will linger around me while life's pulse shall beat. 

Farewell every spot to Memory dear. 
"Where in childhood's fair hours I sported with cheer : 
Sweet dreams of past blessings awaken a sigh 
For young years departed! — for joys gone by ! 

But sorrow for hours now vanished is vain ; 
Eegret cannot bring back those moments again ! 
They're gone and forever, and with them have flown 
The blessings that brighten o'er childhood's sweet dawn ! 

ffiitq (fcttuii's 5U&r*BB 


Mid this bright and festive scene, 
Maidens, as your chosen Queen, 
Eeign I o'er this blooming band, 
Who as loyal subjects stand 
Clustering warmly, glad and gay, 
Eound their grateful Queen of May. 

may queen's address. 803 

E'er may she the love retain, 
That a floral Crown hath lain 
On her meek and humble brow, 
Blending young life's richest glow 
On each fair and stainless flower — 
Emblem of youth's fleeting hour. 

Joyfully I'll wear the Crown, 

Willing subjects round my throne ; 

Fading though its beauty be, 

Yet it sweetly whispers me 

Of affection's sunny beams, 

From your warm hearts' gushing streams. 

But when youthful scenes are o'er, 
When we meet on Earth no more, 
May each one around me now, 
On their fair and radiant brow, 
Wear, in Life's Eternal Day, 
Crowns that never fade away ! 


'dGjjf $ firm It €xin. 


'Tis all that now is left of one, once fair 

As morning light ! And shall we never press 

That lovely brow, so radiant in life, 

Where oft our lip hath sealed its fondest print ! 

Oh ! shall that pulseless heart, so hushed and cold, 

Ne'er echo back to ours one gush of joy 

To soothe its anguish? Ah ! loved one, " no more !" 

The dark Grave answers back! "No more! no more !" 

The spirit of the misty Tomb sings up 

Above thy buried breast ! The snowy folds 

That shroud thy peaceful brow, so pure and fair, 

Alone shall press it now ! And that young cheek, 

Rose-tinted with warm life, where oft our own 

Hath leaned in smiling gladness, years agone, 

How changed ! how still it sleeps on Death's cold breast ! 

Ah ! when the gushing drops from Love's full fount, 

Surcharged the eye of by-gone halcyon hours, 

We said "Farewell" — Hope whispered — "Not for aye;" 


But ah ! the severed tress comes sighing on. 
And whispers lowly through our distant home — 
" Ye said farewell' to meet on earth no more /" 
Sweet spirit gone ! beatified in Light, 
We mourn thee, not as those of hope bereft ; 
The golden chain that twined a wreath of hearts, 
Death hath not riven ; thou hast but borne it up, 
And linked our hearts with Heaven. 

Thou God of Love 
We kiss thy chastening rod, and own thy Truth. 
She was thine own, we give her back to Thee, 
Nor murmur at thy will. Eternal One ! 
Drop down one gilded beam from Thy star-world, 
To soothe his breast whose heart thy hand hath crushed ! 
Oh ! stamp the signet of thy matchless Love, 
Upon a brow that ne'er shall know on earth, 
The press of that soft hand so still in Death ! 
And when Thy angel-messenger shall come 
To hush the music of Life's melody, 
Oh ! may we, on celestial pinions rise, 
To clasp our loved one in the tearless skies ! 


The breatli of Spring is on the lea, 

Low humming tales of bliss 
To Nature's heart that pulseth free, 

Beneath its soothing kiss ; 
The infant buds with balmy sigh, 

Awaken at its tread, 
And peep with young half-open eye, 

From out their mossy bed, 

To gaze upon her graceful form, 

As o'er the breezy heather, 
Leaning on Hope's en wreathing arm, 

They whisper love together. 
The merry birds that flit amain, 

Before old Winter's gloom, 
With warbles wild have come again, 

To chant above his tomb. 

And starry streams, with murmurs free, 

Go dancing down the dell, 
To start the slumbering wildwood bee, 

The choir of life to swell ; 


The paleness of the Past has fled, 

Before the breath of Spring, 
And Beauty lifts her lovely head, 

And plumes her painted wing, 

To greet the garland-girded Queen, 

As from the Spring above, 
She comes with bright and truthful mien, 

To tell us "God is Love." 

Sntprnmptit Itnnjaa. 

TO REV. J. N. D. 

Lsr the roseate morn of joyous years, 
Ere darkling care or sorrow's tears 
Were on my cheek — when sunlight streamed 
Across my joy-wreathed path that gleamed 
With starry hopes — when fragrant flowers 
Made an Elysium of youth's bowers, 
I had no wish to breathe, save one — 
That youthful joys were hut begun I 


When Disappointment's first lone tear 
Whispered me care's storm-cloud was near, 
I looked not up, but in the arms 
Of mortals frail, from earth's alarms 
A refuge sought, and calmly smiled 
As Life's first looming tempest wild, 
Went muttering by — I looked up then — 
To view life's sunlight come again ! 

But when, ah ! when the winds of Fate 
Swept shrieking by with envious hate 
Of mortal bliss, and stole away 
From youth's young morn its sweetest ray — 
When Hope's bright petals strewed the ground, 
And Woe's grim spectres frowned around, 
Another wish my heart then bore — 
Since earth is false 'twere better o'er ! 

Dark thought ! — the deepest shade is past, 

The heart's worst pang is o'er at last ! 

Life's sun is beaming warm and bright, 

Emerging from cold sorrow's night ; 

Sweet Hope — false Hope ! — blooms fresh and fair, 

Beguiling youth's young morn of care ; 

But ah ! I've learned though free from sorrow 

To-day, our hearts may teem to-morrow. 

Hope beckons on with emiling lip, 
And youth's glad pulse bids nature sip 
From Pleasure's sparkling fountain fair, 
While life emits its sweetest glare ; 


And earth's gay garden falsely smiles," 
Wooing with its deceptive wiles ; 
But ah ! I know 'mid brilliant flowers 
The serpent lurks, in rosy bowers ; 

And now since life's first dream is o'er, 
And earth's false face is loved no more — 
Since earthly hope's most brilliant wreath 
Will fade before the north wind's breath : 
Since all below is false, though fair, 
I have a wish, an ardent prayer ; 
'Tis not of love or mortal joy, 
That Time's insatiate ills can cloy. 

But it is this — A^a^ I may find 
I A place within all hearts like thine; 
! For Heaven hath said " The fervent prayer 

Of a righteous man availeth there," 

And if I may but claim a part 

In the aspirations of thy heart, 

The joyful peal beyond the Tomb, 

Will thrill " Come up, there yet is room!" 


€jj* 33 tr m xi e 23?nrt. 

What is it like to ? — a murmuring stream, 

Laughing in lightness along ; 
Soothing and soft as a beautiful dream 

Woven of blossoms and song. 
A broad sea of brightness is sleeping away, 

Where its waters may peacefully rest, 
But oft are they dried by some sun -scorching ray, 

Ere they meet in its sheltering breast ! 

What is it like to ? — a violet meek, 

Hiding away in the shade, 
Veiling its modest and innocent cheek, 

" Half fearless and yet half afraid." 
You know not its sweetness, you know not its worth, 

Till you woo forth its hidden perfume, 
And you wonder how aught of so royal a birth, 

So long all unheeded could bloom. 

What is it like to ? — a rose in its pride, 

Lifting its towering head, 
Scorning the humble that droop at its side, 

Whose glory and gladness have fled. 


You smile and admire, you gather the gem, 

And wed it some fair sunny morn, 
But a shock of adversity shaketh its stem, 

And all that remains is — a thorn ! 

What is it like to ? — the sky in its gladness, 

Bending in beauty above, 
Shadeless and sinless, unseeming of sadness, 

Lifting its eyelid of love. 
But change cometh o'er it, a cloud dims its blue, 

Then anon breaks a lovelier ray, — 
And such is the Heart with its varying hue — 

"lis sunlight and shadows for aye ! 

"And last, though not least," it is like a young dove, 

Whose chords we mean never to sever ; 
We build up a fortress, and dare it to love, 

But talk of true friendship forever! 
We pet the dear darling but pinion its wing, 

Till, fearless, we give it more air, 
When — would you believe it? — the treacherous thing 

Flies off! and — we cannot tell where! (?) 


Let me go to the forest's tangled wild, 

Where the young gazelle is bounding ; 
Where the wreath-crowned wood-nymphs gaily smile, 

And wild-bird notes are sounding. 
In its wood-path dark let me sweetly stray, 

As free as the red deer, flying, 
" Over the hills and far away," 

When soft summer winds are sighing. 

Let me go to the shades of the forest deep, 

Where the spotted fawn is tripping — 
Where the bright- winged birds on the blue streams sleep, 

And dew-laved buds are dripping. 
Far, far from the din of the crowded mart, 

On the gay-hued wings of morning, 
Let me fly to sweet rest, where the bounding hart 

Eoams free 'neath the sylvan awning. 

Let me go to the depths of the forest free, 

Of social joys unthinking, 
Where the honey -bud and blossomed tree, 

The violet dews are drinking, 
With naught but the angels hovering o'er, 

And the wild deer bounding by ; 
Grant me but this boon, I ask no more 

Than thus to here live, aye — and die. 



Sftf, lit Ml $np. 

Nay, let me weep — this breaking heart 

Would find in tears a balm ; 
Oh ! seek not, then, with soothing art, 

Its gushings wild to calm. 
Hush ! 'tis the voice of other days 

That thrills its silent fane ; 
List ! whilst its sighing whisper says, 

" Joys gone come not again! " 

Ah ! do not chide the dew-drop tear 

That trembles on this lid ; 
'Tis the wild gush of well-springs clear. 

Beneath ifie surface hid! 
Forbid it not to peaceful flow — 

The shadowy twilight dew 
Gives freshness to the rose's glow, 

And ether's misty blue. 

Tears, like the drops that nature sheds 

Within her own fair breast, 
Scattering perfume when darkness spreads — 

Calm the sad heart to rest. 
Then let me weep, while yon blue eye, 

That swims in dewy light, 
Looks down from its star-home on high, 

To watch me weep to-night ! 


3ttfrg? tint fjir $£urt. 

Judge not the heart from outward show, 

Thou canst not read aright ; 
The breast thou deemest cold may glow, 

With feelings warm and bright. 
The light and careless brow may hide 

A multitude of woes ; 
The pallid cheek may, even from pride, 

Outvie the brilliant rose ! 

The eye bedimmed by frequent tears, 

May shine with lustre bright, 
But to conceal the secret cares 

Of one in sorrow's night ! 
Oh! think not thou each joyous word 

Springs from the heart's true fount, 
For ah ! it may, e'en then unheard, 

Unnumbered woes recount ! 

Then say not thou the heart is light, 

When smiles bedeck the brow — 
The cheek may glow, the eye beam bright, 

Gay words and laughter flow, 
From hearts that hide a fount of tears, 

Which random words will start, 
And springs that have been sealed for years, 

If waked, will break the heart ! 


$b n %itl SmprtMttBii. 

My pretty bird, I cannot bear 

Thy low and piteous cry, 
Or view thy little prisoned form 

With an unpitying eye. 
Ah no ! sweet one, thy efforts faint, 

To 'scape this lonely cell, 
Speak loudly all the wishes fond, 

Thou canst not plainer tell. 

Thy vain attempts to burst the bonds 

That bind thee captive here, 
Eeproach me for my cruelty 

To one I love so dear ! 
Though I could wish thee to remain, 

And cheer me with thy song, 
The voice of Conscience smites me, with 

A feeling sense of wrong ! 

Then go, dear bird, from bondage lone, 

I ope thy prison door ; 
Plume thy soft wings and soar away, 

To bless me here no more ! 
Up, up, he wings his airy flight, 

His rapturous joy to tell ; 
Away, away — he's lost to sight — 

Sweet warbler — fare thee well ! 


Faded and gone are the summer's sweet flowers, 

Strewn by the wintry winds o'er the dark mould ; 
Smilers when sunlight stole through the soft hours, 

Down from yon azure their leaves to unfold. 
Bright were their beauties when breezes swept on, 

O'er the blue waters, to gather perfume ; 
Whisperers lovely ! now faded and gone ! 

Slumberers lonely ! in chillness and gloom ! 
Oh! but the Spring-time will come o'er the plain, 

Wooing the whispering blossoms again, 
With its soft tread o'er the emerald lawn ! — 

Then we'll not mourn for the faded and gone. 

Faded and gone are the ones that we cherished, 

Fondly and true, in our bosoms of yore ! — 
Slumbering buds may awake o'er the perished, 

Their faded hearts shall unfold here no more ! 
Sweet is the music that Memory flings 

O'er the oasis of Life's early love, 
Where flew the Angel on fluttering wings, 

Bearing our lost through the starlight above ! 
Oh ! there's a land where the perished ones bloom, 

Where cometh never a shadow of gloom! 
Fadeless and fair is that glorious dawn, 

Then we'll not mourn for the faded and gone. 

A FRAGMENT. ■ 317 

Faded and gone are the sweet dreams of childhood, 

When the young wings of the spirit were free, 
Folded or plumed 'mid the shadowy wildwood, 

Sweeping the surface of Life's sunny sea. 
Time's fading finger hath sullied the leaf, 

Stainless and lovely in childhood's pure years ; 
Pages of beauty once brilliant yet brief, 

Wear its deep impress of changes and tears ! 
Oh ! but the blossoms of childhood will bloom 

Brightly again, o'er the shadowy Tomb ! 
Infinite gladness flow endlessly on, 

Then we'll not mourn for the faded and gone. 

She drooped like a lily-bud sinking to rest, 
And slept in the early grave's shadowy breast, 
Stole from his fond bosom by Death's culling hand, 
To bloom far more sweetly in heaven's star-land ! 

He lingered not long, but on Zion's high wall, 
Fell, covered with glory, at heaven's glad call ; 
The loving and loved slumber now side by side, 
Life's fondly united, Death could not divide. 


gog nf tjj* Spirit. 

Oh ! there's a gorgeous gleam, mother, 

Gathered within my breast, 
A love-beam trembling from Hope's skies, 

Above the spirit's rest ! 
Never again, it seems, mother, 

This bosom can be sad, 
Angels are whispering to my heart, 

Things glorious and glad ! 
I hear their pleasant song, mother, 

So musical and free ; 
With folded wings upon my brow, 

They murmur low to me — 

"Spirit rest — the night is dying, 

Stars are struggling o'er thee ; 
Mists are melting, shadows flying, 

Morning breaks before thee ! 
Spirit rest — the breath of gladness 

Breathes within thy breast ; 
Sunbeams drink the dew of sadness — 

Weary spirit, rest." 


You used to call me sad, mother, 

And bid my spirit fling 
Some gay and gladsome carolings 

Across this trembling string. 
'Tis vain to strive to sing, mother, 

By false and feeble art, 
I only know to trill the strain 

That gusheth from the heart/ 

It seems so very strange, mother, 

This sweet, wild music free ; 
Perchance it is an Angel's wing 

That maketh melody ! 
Methinks a lovely star, mother, 

Hath fallen in my breast, 
And on the pulsings of my heart 

Hath laid it down to rest ! 

You know when last I sang, mother, 

You chid the plaintive strain, 
And bade me sweep the shade aside, 

And tune my harp again. 
And now I'll touch its string, mother, 

And bid it echo long ; 
There's gladness in my soul to-night, 

And joyance in my song, 
An Angel hath flown down, mother, 

Within my heart to dwell, 
But when and how and whence it came, 

Indeed / dare not tell I 


gtrrnua # nli Sun. 

(to mt sleeping brother.) 

Sumus SOLI duo — my heart is in the bowers 
That shed their sweetness on our childhood's hours ; 
The cool breeze singing through the maple boughs, 
Comes softly kissing to our infant brows, 
As when with floating tresses wild and free, 
Hand clasped in hand, we bounded o'er the lea, 
And the gold robin's clear mellifluous strain, 
Steals gladly gushing on our ear again ; 
Our golden nestler in the scented thorn 
That heralded for us the " meek-eyed morn." 
The light of other days ! — do not its beams 
Come trembling, brother, to thy soul of dreams? — 
A smile is sweetly stealing to thy cheek, 
Teeming with eloquence thou canst not speak, 
And a faint flush comes softly sweeping now, 
Blushing in beauty o'er thy broad, pure brow ; 
How like our mother ! with thy forehead fair, 
Paling to softness 'neath the jetty hair, 
And peacefully beneath the blue-veined lid, 
The hazel of her eye is gently hid ; 


Sleep on and smile, thou dreamer wild and free, 
Thy all of life is living now with me ! 

Sumus soli duo — though sorrow's veil be drawn, 

To shroud the glories of our hearts' new dawn — 

Though other blossoms wither in our way, 

Chilled by the breath of bleak misfortune's day — 

I still would smile, if smiling could impart 

A ray of gladness to thy drooping heart ; 

Aye, if this breast, one gathered smile should blight, 

I'd call it forth to make thy bosom bright. 

I know I am not gay as thou art glad, 

Yet chide, oh ! chicle me not, I am not sad ; 

Thy heart is ever like the young gazelle, 

That wanders wildly o'er the dewy dell, 

And mine may be like to the dreamy dove, 

Singing low songs to memory and loye 

That glow in lustre like a lake of light 

Sleeping in azure in a starry night ; 

They wake no tear, they leave no anguish there, 

Yet sing a requiem o'er the joys that were! 

Then chide, oh ! do not chide her plaintive tone, 

She dreams of blighted hopes thou hast not known ! 

Sumics soli duo — each other's hopes and fears 
Each other's joys and sorrows, smiles and tears 
We Jong have shared — I never breathed a sigh 
But dimmed the sunny light of thy dear eye, 
And naught of gladness ever dwelt with me. 
But seemed more bright for being shared with thee. 


Heaven's richest blessings bloom in beauty o'er thee 
Life's way hath opened free and fair before thee ; 
Thy youthful heart hath never known a sorrow 
That fled not in the sunshine of the morrow — 
But ah ! lurks there an hour in Time, my brother, 
When thou wilt turn from me to clasp another ? 
Another's smile may dim the light of mine, 
But none more true will answer back to thine ! 
Sleep on and smile, thou dreamer glad and free, 
The future what? the present is for me! 

Mntljhg €xut littt Wtntn, 

The flowers that lift their pearly cheek 

To Spring-time's azure eye, 
And every lovely leaflet meek, 

Unfoldeth but to die ! 
The rosy buds that gem the lea 

In Summer's golden ray, 
Ne'er whisper in their music free, 

Of changes and decay. 
But every blossom's starry eye 

Must shut in shades of even, 
And leaflets sing us when they die, 

" There's nothing true but Heaven!" 


The ones we loved in early years, 

Who seem of life a part, 
How oft they drain an urn of tears 

From out our trusting heart ! 
And those who round us fondest cling, 

With Faith's unshadowed eye, 
Like sweetest, fairest, flowers of Spring, 
\ Are always first to die ! 
Faith, hope and love ! delightful train, 

Yet ah ! how often riven 
From hearts that learn to feel the strain, 
"There's nothing calm but Heaven!" 

In iHu lUnumtor? 


Do you remember the twilight we strolled 

On the banks where Potomac's bright rivulets rolled, 

When summer buds lifted their innocent eye, 

As fair as the stars that came out in the sky, 

And low breezes sang through the shadowy grove, 

As sweetly and soft as a whisper of love ? 


Do you remember that silent " Ketreat," 

"When the moonlight lay trembling so holy and sweet 

Among the bright dew on the old mossy green 

That sparkled and smiled through the silvery sheen ? 

Ah yes, I am sure you remember it yet, 

I know you are dreaming — you cannot forget ! 

But change hath come o'er it, the summer buds lie 

All dead o'er the mould where the wintry winds sigh ! 

The blue waves that murmured so gaily and glad, 

In ice-chains lie fettered, all silent and sad ! 

And the moonlight falls faintly and mourningly there, 

Like the last beam of Hope through the night of Despair ! 

Do you remember the lattice, sweet C , 

"Where the night breezes crept through so coolly and free, 
As you knelt at my feet with your hand clasped in mine, 
Whilst the dreams of my heart were all poured into thine ? 
The watchers that spangled the deep azure dome, 
Seemed smiling o'er hopes for the long years to come, 
When you lifted your brow in the misty starlight, 
And spake of a far land where " there is no night;" 
Do you remember that old lattice }^et ? 
Ah, yes. I am sure you can never forget ! 

The days have departed when thy sunny cheek 
Lay nestled to mine, love, so trusting and meek. 
But ah ! there's a star on the crest of our heart, 
That guides to a home where we never shall part ! 
And oh ! till we meet in that mansion in heaven, 
I know you'll remember the hours of seven ! 


"€\t ^'jfilnanpjm of tun" 


If I had learned to idolize 

A brilliant star in love's blue skies, 

And "nightly watched it gently rise," 

To twine around it a bright "wreath," 
"Dreaming a name" I durst "not breathe — " 

If I had ever, Dedier, learned 

To treasure thoughts that "breathed and burned" 

Upon the tablet of my soul, 

Spurning the spirit's calm control — 

If I had learned to smile or sigh, 

Before the phase of Love's young eye, 

Feeling, without its lovely light, 

The world were shrouded up in night, 

Or, girt with gloom, were glad and gay, 

If mirrored in its feeblest ray — 

If I had loved so wild and deep 
" The tale would break a heart to keep," 

Needs must it be, a by-gone hour 

Marked the bright spot where Love's sweet flower 

Sprang, budded, blossomed in a day, 

Matured by but a single ray f 


The little buds that ope their eye 
Beneath the summer's azure sky, 
Are won to bloom so sweet and fair, 
Nursed by the hand of time and care ; 
Ihey gradual to perfection tend, 
So is it with the heart, my friend. 
Thy stately form, thy faultless face, 
Thy noble mien and manly grace 
May light a fire in maiden's eyes, 
As bright as summer's sunlit skies, 
And make the life-tide come and go 
Like crimson shadows over snow; 
But tell me not the flame would burn 
As brightly on o'er beauty's urn; 
" When the stem dies, the leaf that grew, 
Out of its heart must perish too." 
Nothing, of Love deserves the name, 
If beauty's death can quench the flame. 

I had a friend in other years, 
Sharer of all my smiles and tears, 
The spirit-part of all my dreams, 
" We were so mixed as meeting streams." 
We wandered forth one twilight hour, 
Beneath the young spring's budding bower, 
And near a stream where roses grew, 
With lilies pure and violets blue, 
A crimson blossom raised its head, 
And on the air its perfume shed. 
Young Ida clasped the beauteous gem, 
And quickly rent it from its stem, 


Clasped to iter heart with fond delight, 
Confessing love — aye at u first sight! " 
It ivas a flower of rarest hue, 
Indeed I almost loved it too, 
Ere time had bared its folded breast, 
That hid a serpent hushed to rest ! 
Perceived too late, the hideous thing, 
To Ida's young heart gave a sting, 
That drained her bosom's urn of gladness, 
And wan Grief stealing on in sadness, 
Bent o'er the brink of poisoned years, 
And filled the chalice up with tears ! 
Long time has gone since Ida's flight 
From the rose she loved so at " first sight" 
And once when I, despite the past, 
Well nigh my all on a die had cast, 
(For ah ! the heart's a restless thing, 
Whose vines were only formed to cling,) 
Her voice came on with warning art, 
Beware, beware its folded heart ! 
I've learned from her experienced powers, 
To look for thorns in fairest flowers ; 
I know there are, in life's parterre, 
Roses without, fragrant and fair, 
But since we know the eye deceives, 
And darkness lurks beneath fair leaves, 
Let fancy e'er so lovely make it, 
Better reflect before we take it, 
For passion, like the floweret's eye, 
When summer's gone, will fade and die. 



Oh ! Dedier, could thy spirit fling, 
Its tendrils round a worthless thing 
With eyes of light and soul of guile, 
With frowns full oft, at will a smile ? 
No ! no ! ah no ! there is in Love, 
That will not link the kite and dove ; 
Affection to perfection clings, 
The heart was meant for noble thing- 
Appearance, true, may charm us on, / 
With love-dreams till the spell is gonel 
But the spirit's blest, supreme control, / 
Is a pure, truthful, noble soul, 
That scales the walls within the breast, j 
And bears the dreaming heart, possessed, 
So softly from its fortress fair, 
Waking it knows not when or where ; 
This, this is love — the deathless flame 
That burns forever on, the same. 

I hope, my friend, in years to come, 
The bloom that blushes in thy home, 
Though quickly culled, may ever be, 
What seemed it on the parent tree, 
And no thorn from its secret rest, 
Be planted in thy trusting breast. 
Suspicion sleeps in Wisdom's barge, 
And to Simplicity yields its charge, 
While angel Goodness never dreams 
Of lurking ill where no ill seems. 
'Twas thus, they say, in " long ago," 
When Uriel to Adam's foe, 

LINES. 329 

Discovered distant Paradise 

To the wily arch-fiend's wistful eyes ; 

An angel's trust was there betrayed, 

And Eden's bliss in ruins laid ! 

Oh ! Dedier, beware ! Deception's barb 

Still gleams beneath a saintly garb ! 


" You would win a wreath of Fame, that should encircle the broad universe, and 
whose topmost bough should tower to the skies." — Phrenologist. 

Nay, think not that I fain would win 

A laurel wreath of brilliant Fame, 
To rest upon my humble brow, 

And proudly wreath my lowly name — 
Oh not for me fair flowers of richest dye, 
That droop and fade 'neath Life's uncertain sky. 

I seek no earthly diadem 

To starlike beam upon my way, 
Bind not upon my burning brow. 

Earth's gay and glittering tiara, 
Oh ! bring not me the brightest gems that glow, 
To strew my humble pathway here below. 


I would not leave contentment's vale, 
To climb Fame's steep and thorny bill, 

Though I might grasp the loftiest bough, 
That captive leads Earth's heart at will, 

No ! not for me from Fame's high summit borrow 

A gilded name — and wear a " golden sorrow." 

But give to me the tiniest pearl 

That gems the casket of fair Truth — 

Give me Affection's stainless buds, 
That blossom in unfading youth — 

Bring me but gifts reflecting Heaven's pure ray, 

And take, oh take Earths glittering crowns away ! 

Irnrtf d^lnij. 


44 Know ye not that there is a prince and a great man fallen this day in Israel V 

%. Sam. iii,«38. 

Ofi gaze on him now as he peacefully lies 

With the white shroud enfolding his calm, dreamless breast, 
And the pale lids enveiling his dim azure eyes — 

Tread lightly, aye lightly, around his last rest ! 


Oh gaze on that bosom now throbless and still, 
And weep for the light that forever hath fled 

Behind the dim awning of Death's icy chill, 

That wreaths its damp mist o'er his slumbering head ! 

Oh gaze on those eyes that shall nevermore break 
From the thrall of the drooping and ice-laden lid, 

And weep for the calm of the beauteous lake 
Of once-beaming lustre for evermore hid ! 

Turn thou to the high halls of national pride, 

And gaze on a form as it towers in light, 
And bears the world's heart on the glorious tide 

That flows from the fountain of eloquent might. 

How heaves that warm bosom, how flash those blue eyes, 

In the proud majesty of a patriot's zeal, 
As the waves of an immortal intellect rise 

On the ocean of Mind for humanity's weal. 

The brightest star-gems of a glorious land, 
Culled from the far sweep of republican ways, 

And bound in the bonds of a national band, 

Group richly around him and wond'ringly gaze. 

That warm, heaving bosom, those bright beaming eyes, 

Have faded and gone to the bosom of God ! 
Oh gaze on him now as he peacefully lies — 
"The strong staff is broke and the beautiful rod!" 


He rose a bold monarch of grandeur and might, 

The pride of a nation's illustrious gaze, 
A world's admiration — a soft golden light, 

That steadily burned through life's varying ways. 

He faded as withers the gigantic oak, 
That silently moulders and sinks to decay, 

Its life-fountain dried by the tempest's wild stroke, 
All mournfully, peacefully passing away ! 

He fell ! in the vines of affection that bound him, 
Amid the heart-moan of a sorrowing world, 

And sweetly he sleeps with its love-links around him. 
And the banner of heavenly triumph unfurled ! 

Oh gaze on him now as he peacefully lies, 

And dream of the glory and gladness of yore ! 

That cold, shrouded bosom, those dimly veiled eyes 
Shall thrill thee and break on thy spirit no more I 

No more ! in the high halls of national pride — 

No more ! where "a prince and a great man " hath trod, 

But o'er the dark waters of Death's narrow tide, 
Again — evermore in the palace of God ! 

His life is a story of honor and fame, 

His death the wild sweep of the hurricane blast, 

His memory, the marble that tablets his name — 
Unsullied, undying, and loved to the last ! 



She is sleeping and dreaming, 
Where the pale stars are gleaming, 
And angel eyes beaming, 

Over her brow ; 
Calm 'neath their smiling 
And whispers beguiling, 

Slumbering now ! 

Fond bosoms are weeping 
And mournfully keeping 
Watch o'er her sleeping, 

Breakless and blest ; 
But far from their teeming 
She is sleeping and dreaming — 

Gone to her rest ! 

Long she'll lie dreaming 

Where the pale stars are gleaming, 

And angel eyes beaming 

Softly above her ! 
Long as her inurning 
Will memory be burning 

In hearts that love her ! 


380t f QttL 

Not now — 'twould pale the roseate hue, 

And shade the tranquil l'ght 
That rest upon my cheek and brow — 

Oh ! breathe it not to-night ; 
r Tis over now, the dark, wild dream 

That clouded, erst, my brain ; 
Put up thy harp, the spirit's beam 

Brooks not the plaintive strain. 

Not now — I cannot, cannot sing 

The song I used to love ; 
Oh no ! I would not stir the wing 

Of Memory's mourning dove! 
'Tis shrouded o'er the starry plain 

Where first I learned to fling 
The low wild warbles of that strain 

From this long silent string. 

Not now — I would not lonely tread 

The Past's deserted ways, 
And linger o'er the lovely dead 

That brightened other days ! 

NOT NOW. 335 

'Twill come no more, the gladsome glow 
That erst would wreath my brow 

To list that plaintive strain — oh no ! 
I cannot breathe it now. 

Yet steal the sighing cord away, 

That murmurs faint and low, 
The cadence of that pensive lay 

"We loved in long ago — 
Unbind the wreath of fading flowers 

Culled from that shadowed lea, 
Nor whisper me of by-gone hours, 

And I will sing for thee. 

Loop back the drapery, let me gaze 

On evening's shining tears, 
And wander through the purple haze, 

To scenes of coming years — 
With starlight trembling from above, 

And breezes floating free, 
Oh ! I will weave of hope and love, 

A gladsome song for thee. 

But ask me not to touch the string 

We loved to wake of yore, 
Nor bid me brightly smile and sing 

Of hopes that come no more ! 
Put up thy harp and watch the light 

On heaven's azure brow ; 
I cannot sing that song to-night — 

No, dearest, no — not now ! 


I never thought to prove thee 
What time hath told thou art, 
I fondly dreamed 
Truth brightly beamed 
Within thy noble heart. 

It was a feeble tracing 
Of friendship's early day, 

But drifting showers 

Of later hours, 
Have swept the print away ! 

I'm smiling at the dreaming, 
The sweet simplicity, 

That thought to find 

In mortal mind, 
All that I dreamed of thee. 

It was a simple dreaming, 
A wreath of fading flowers ; 

The dream hath fled, 

The wreath lies dead 
Amid departed hours ! 

LINES. 337 



Lay thy fair young head, darling, 

On her dreaming breast ; 
Fold thy fairy, dimpled hands 

Calmly up to rest. 
Gently, gently falls the fringe 

Of the waxen lid, 
O'er the dewy, violet eyes, 

Soft in slumber hid. 

Putting back thy curls, darling, 

Curls of golden hair, 
Bending o'er thy cherub form, 

Pure, as angels are — 
Gazing on thy baby -brow, 

With her earnest eye, 
Dreams she of the loveliness 

Veiled in yonder sky. 


Type of Heaven thou art, darling, 

Type of purity ; 
Stainless as the summer flowers 

Breaking o'er the lea — 
Sinless as the golden star, 

Set in Heaven's blue ; 
She doth love thee, little one, 

Angels love thee, too ! 

Sure their starry eyes, darling, 

Bend above thee now, 
Sure their rosy, loving lips, 

Press thy sleeping brow ! 
O'er thy sweetly rounded cheek, 

Dimpling it the while, 
To thy lovely rose-bud mouth, 

Creepeth up a smile. 

She is smiling too, darling, 

That she hath a part 
In the pure and artless love 

Of thy sinless heart. 
Love her, love her, tiny one, 

In thy purity ; 
Sure the angels, too, will bless 

One that's dear to thee. 


€nmi, lash €Jm. 

Come, haste thee, my love, I am waiting; 

Sweet Summer is over and gone, 
The mild winds of Autumn soft prating 

O'er hill-top and shadowy lawn, 
In low, loving whispers seem breathing 

Of a quiet nook mantled in dreams, 
Where the quivering vine-leaves are wreathing 

Brown shade starred with golden sunbeams. 

Come haste thee, my love, let us wander 

Beside the soft-murmuring rill 
That winds through the shrubbery yonder, 

Around the green slope of the hill ; 
We'll sweep back the pale auburn tresses, 

And throw off the fetters that bind us, 
And yield to sweet Autumn's caresses, 

When we leave the world's full heart behind us. 

Come, haste thee, my love, I am sighing 

To fly to that shadowy nook, 
Where the first scattered leaflets are lying 

On waves of the silvery brook, 


That breaks up in low music-whispers, 
Around that empurpled hill-side, 

Like the lingering cadence of vespers, 
Borne out on the softened eve-tide. 

Come, haste thee, my love, I am longing 

To look in thy violet eye, 
And far from the busy mart, thronging, 

To murmur of hours gone by ; 
'Tis a beautiful dream I am dreaming, 

Unlike the dim vision of yore ; 
Oh ! that with its shadowy seeming 

I'm sure it will darken no more ! 

Then haste thee, my love, I am thinking 

r ow the old woods will echo in glee, 
W\ we roam its calm bosom unshrinkin; 

1 1 n sorrow unfettered and free ! 
Aye, free as the swift Autumn-flushes, 

That pencil the velvety lea — 
Unfettered as Nature's glad gushes — 

Haste, maiden — I'm waiting for thee ! 


€\i ton liuhr*. 


They are two lovely, gentle ones, 

Those little darlings fair, 
With soft and silvery "music tones, 

And shining auburn hair, 
And broad white brows, and large dark eyes 

Of sweet and radiant light, 
As orbs that peep from azure skies, . \ 

Behind the lids of night. 

Sweet Laura is the gentle Dove — 

She's timid, meek, and mild, 
And you can only know to love 

That little modest child. 
Her step is lightsome, soft and still 

As summer's velvet tread, 
When singing breezes noiseless trill 

Above a violet bed. 

Bright Annie is the Mocking-bird, 
A laughing romp is she ; 

Her roguish heart is ever stirred 
With planning fun and glee. 


Her step is like the bubbles sweet, 
Of fountain running o'er ; 

Whene'er she cometh patting feet 
Will tell the tale before ! 

Sweet Laura's glance is like the gleam 

That trembles through the shade ; 
A loving, trusting, softened beam, 

Half fearless — half-afraid 
Bright Annie's flashes full and free, 

Then lingers soft and sly, 
And you can only smile to see 

That dark, mirth-loving eye. 

Now, lasses all, dont frown I pray, 

And toss your dainty curls 
Awhile you list my loving lay 

To two such darling girls; 
And laddies — but my song is done — 

I'm very sure you'll love, 
If ever you should look upon 

The Mocking-bird and Dove. 


r *' 



i ^> 



b o x 

?*> * '^ 


"^ V*